


Transcendental Properties

by AubreyEtta, madeofspace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Addiction, Blood and Gore, Comfort Food, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wing Kink, spirit journey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 05:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8433322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AubreyEtta/pseuds/AubreyEtta, https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeofspace/pseuds/madeofspace
Summary: When Castiel is stricken with a strange illness, Dean is there to help his friend through the worst of it. Dean enlists Sam’s help in finding information and a remedy, but little is known. Through their hardship, the bond Dean and Castiel share as friends grows stronger and blossoms in a way that neither expects. They learn the importance of love and sacrifice in the face of a pending apocalypse, and they have only each other to fuel hope.





	1. Exuviation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE thanks to our beta [ashes0909](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashes0909/pseuds/ashes0909) and artist [serafire](http://serafire.tumblr.com/), who picked our story for the [DCBB 2016](http://deancasbigbang.livejournal.com/). Her pieces captured our story perfectly. This work is a collaborative effort that couldn't have been possible without the help of everyone involved.
> 
> Enjoy, and thanks for reading!

 

**Chapter 1: Exuviation**

Dean was angry.

Not only had he started the apocalypse by breaking the first seal in Hell, but then his brother had gone behind his back and done the unthinkable. Sam had trusted a demon, who had, of course, misled him into turning against his own family. Sam had consumed blood. _Demon blood_. Worst of all, he had hidden it from Dean. And when Dean had tried to help him, Sam turned on him, followed his demon bitch, and released Lucifer from his prison.

Just the reminder set Dean’s blood boiling. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and took a deep breath, repressing the urge to curse the brother that was no longer at his side. A soft flapping sound and a dark stir in his peripheral drew his attention.

“Fuck!” Dean yelled as he released the steering wheel of his Impala only to hit it in frustration. “Cas, you’ve got to start announcing yourself, dude.”

“Apologies, Dean,” Castiel said quietly.

“Just--” Dean began as he took a deep cleansing breath, “try to remember. I about pissed myself.”

“Where is Sam?” Castiel asked.

“We’re taking separate vacations.”

“Do you think that is wise? If Lucifer--”

“Woah there, Cas,” Dean interrupted. “It’s not forever. Just until I can get my anger in check.”

Castiel nodded and contemplated that. “Is there anything I can help you with, Dean?”

“I was just headin’ to Bobby’s. I need clean clothes and to sleep in a bed that doesn’t have questionable sheets. He’s on a hunt with Rufus up in Saskatchewan, so it’ll be just me.” Dean glared sideways at the Angel who had the habit of suddenly appearing in his passenger seat. “Unless you feel like popping in.”

“Hmmm,” was Castiel’s noncommittal reply before he flashed away from the Impala.

“Okay, Dean. Thank you for the invitation, Dean. Ass,” Dean grumbled to nobody and turned up the radio in his precious car.

He looked over at the empty seat and gasped. In the Angel’s vacated spot were four shiny, black feathers.

“Shit. That can’t be good,” Dean whispered to himself. He pulled over and stepped out of the car, walking around to the trunk. Opening it, he shifted things around a bit and emptied a pillowcase that contained rock salt shells and placed the feathers inside. He contemplated keeping the pillowcase in the trunk with the rest of the arsenal but thought better of it. Instead, after he climbed into the driver’s seat again, he put it into the glove box. He would just have to remember to let Castiel know he had them.

Dean still had a ways to go before he reached Bobby’s, and he drove those quiet miles in a trance. He was about two hours outside of Sioux Falls when Castiel appeared again.

“Dean, I am in the passenger seat. I do not know how to announce myself before I appear. So, I hope I did not startle you.”

Dean only laughed. “Thanks, buddy. ‘A’ for effort. You okay?”

“No. I do not believe I am.”

“Okay, what’s going on and how can I help?”

“Dean, I am ill.”

“What, like an Angel Flu? A1N1, something like that?” Dean snickered at his own joke.

Castiel shot Dean an annoyed look and answered, “I have entered exuviation.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I have entered a stage in my development where I shed my feathers and regrow new ones.”

“Like baby teeth?” Dean reached across in front of Castiel and opened the compartment. “By the way, I found some of your feathers. I have them in the glovebox.”

“I do not know what happens to baby teeth,” Castiel said seriously but then his expression turned inquisitive. “Why do they call it a glovebox? Nobody ever puts gloves in it.” The Angel clicked the small door closed, leaving the feathers.

“Good question, but not the time, Cas. What’s going to happen?”

“I have no idea as it is a very private event for an Angel. Usually when an Angel begins to exuviate, said Angel sequesters in Heaven. However, because of my rebellion, Heaven is no longer safe for me. I find that I am vulnerable, and as I shed I will become even more so. Even now, I am unable to fly.”

“You can actually fly?” Dean asked with a grin, and then straightened his face again. “Don’t worry. You’ll just come to Bobby’s with me. How long does this exuviation last?”

“It is such a guarded process of Angel development, so it is unknown how long I will suffer.”

“What exactly is going to happen to you?” Dean asked horrified.

“I do not know. I will lose my feathers, and then they will regrow. Beyond that, I have no idea what is going to happen.”

Dean was shocked at that. Castiel always had the answers. Castiel and… “Fuck, I’m going to have to call Sam. Aren’t I?”

Before Castiel could answer Dean was already dialing. He quickly hung up, losing his nerve for a moment, and then redialed.

“Hey Sammy. Yeah, I know. Not the time. Cas is sick. Yeah- going to Bobby’s. Yeah- I’m going to need help researching. Cas has no clue. Yeah- shedding feathers. Okay. A week? You’re that far? Fuck, fine.. We’ll hole up. See ya then. Bye.”

“I did not want to burden you with this, Dean.”

“I’m glad you came to me. We’ll figure this out. Sam went to California. It’ll take him a while to get to us, but he’ll work on finding answers as much as he can before he gets here.”

“Thank you,” Castiel whispered sincerely. Then the dark haired man did something Dean had never seen him do.

Castiel yawned.

“My eyes do not seem to be able to remain open,” Castiel said wearily.

“Sleep then. I’ll wake you when we get to Bobby’s.”

“I do not require sleep,” he replied even as he moved to get more comfortable in the passenger seat.

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, dude,” Dean said with a quiet laugh as he turned off the stereo and plunged the car into silence.

* * *

When Dean pulled up at Bobby’s quiet house, he got out to stretch his stiff limbs and pop his neck. He looked at the Angel who was still sleeping soundly in the passenger seat of the Impala. His mouth was hanging open, and he was snoring slightly.

Dean left him to sleep, as he went to disable the trap on the front door. After he secured the house, he walked back out to the Impala to wake the sleeping Angel.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said as he gently pushed on his shoulder. But, Castiel didn’t wake.

So, Dean heaved Castiel into his arms and proceeded into the house, up the stairs, stopping at what had always been considered his room. He pushed the door open with the toe of his boot and laid the Angel on the bed.

“You owe me big time for this, buddy,” Dean muttered as he began removing Castiel’s shoes and socks. “Or maybe we’re even for the whole pulling-me-out-of-Hell thing.”

Dean went for the trench coat next and was surprised when Castiel still did not stir as he pushed and pulled him to remove the garment. He draped the coat over the back of a nearby chair. Castiel’s suit jacket and tie followed quickly, and Dean placed them gently over top of his coat.

When Dean was done, he went to the door. Before he could cross the threshold into the hallway, a whispered, “Stay with me, please,” came from the bed.

Dean turned to look into the blue eyes of Castiel’s vessel, and never before had he seen such anguish and fear and _brokenness_ in them. Dean couldn’t refuse. “I’m just going to run out and grab my bag and lock up. I’ll be right back, I promise,” he whispered warmly. “Two minutes, tops.”

Castiel nodded and Dean hurried out of the room to accomplish his tasks. He was quick, but sighed when he picked up thirteen newly shed feathers on the way and added them to the pillowcase. Dean grabbed a bottle of Jameson and two glasses on his way back up the stairs. Castiel was sitting up in bed when he returned.

He placed the booze on his nightstand and put his duffel bag on the bed. He opened it, removed a dingy pair of sweatpants, and held them out to Castiel. “Here. These are only slightly dirty, but a whole hell of a lot more comfortable than your suit pants.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said quietly. He stood and began unbuttoning his shirt, removing it to the thin sleeveless undershirt beneath. He quickly removed the navy blue pants and tossed them over the rest of his clothing. He bent to pull on the sweats and turned at the sound of Dean’s gasp. “What?”

“N-nothing,” he croaked as he cleared his throat and looked anywhere but at the half-dressed Angel.

Dean had never seen Castiel without his trench coat armor, and couldn’t help the comparison between Castiel and himself. Castiel was smaller, slight and sinewy, whereas Dean was all bulk and buldgy muscle. Dean was surprised that Castiel still looked so powerful. And utterly _gorgeous_.

Dean shook his head to clear his mind from _that_ train of thought and sat on the bed next to his friend. “Are your ribs etched like you did to mine and Sammy’s? Can the other Angels find you?”

“I had Balthazar etch me shortly after I rebelled.”

“Balthazar?”

“He is one of my brothers. He is understanding of my love for humanity. At one time, he was revered by the ancient Greeks as Dionysus.”

At the mention of the God of Wine, Dean cracked open the whiskey. “That's good,” he gruffed. “Gotta keep you safe until you're on your feet and annoying me again.” He poured two fingers into each glass and handed one to Castiel.

“I cannot get drunk, Dean.”

“Humor me,” Dean mumbled. “You’re sleeping now, so who knows.”

“As you wish,” Castiel said as he threw back the entire glass in one big gulp and then coughed it all over the side of the bed. “It burns!”

Dean couldn’t help a chuckle. “Take it easy. Sip it.” Dean, however, slammed his entire drink and then poured Castiel another two fingers. “At least until you’re used to it.”

Castiel was much more careful with his second tumbler full. He looked down at his glass contemplatively. “Dean, I find that I am frightened.”

“It’s understandable. This is some weird shit.”

“You don’t understand, Dean. I have never felt frightened. Angels do not--” Castiel paused for a moment. “Angels are not supposed to feel...anything.”

“Hey, Cas, dude,” Dean started but at the small sniffle he scooted closer to the Angel and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I am sorry, Dean. I just feel so--” Castiel said as he rubbed at his eyes searching for the right word.

“Human?” Dean asked.

“I was going to say ‘weak’,” Castiel responded quietly.

“Yep, humans are weak,” Dean said with a bitter chuckle.

Castiel looked up Dean shocked. “You aren’t weak, Dean. Anything but, actually. You’re stronger than any of the Angels I know. If this is what humanity feels like--” Castiel stopped and drew in a ragged deep breath. “I do not know how you deal with it.”

“Now, remember you’ve only been feeling human for less than 24 hours. I’ve had over 30 years to get used to it. But, I’m here for you. I’m not going to leave you. I’ll help in any way I can. Promise.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said. “I thought that since I’ve watched humanity since the beginning of time, it would be--”

“A walk in the park?” Dean said finishing Castiel’s thought and trying to lighten the mood.

“I do not understand that reference,” Castiel said with a confused tilt of the head.

Dean laughed heartily and said, “You’re still you, Cas. Don’t ever change.”

Dean moved his hand into the Angel’s lap and Castiel leaned his head on Dean’s wide shoulder.

The two men sat this way for a long time contemplating Castiel’s newly-found predicament. “Hey, Cas? What should we do with all these feathers?” Dean asked quietly.

When Dean received no reply, he smiled softly and looked down to find that Castiel was asleep again. He chuckled fondly at the soft snore that emitted from his friend. He wrestled himself out of bed and settled the Angel under the covers. After running Castiel’s clothes downstairs to the laundry room, he returned and sat in the stiff high backed chair next to the bed to keep vigil throughout the night.    

They’d start figuring everything else out tomorrow. 


	2. Nest

**Chapter 2: Nest**

Dean woke the next morning, his back aching from leaning crookedly in a chair all night. Castiel was sprawled out on the bed on his stomach, still sound asleep. The covers were tangled in his legs and his face was pressed hard into the pillow, his mouth hanging open and the tiniest trace of drool dribbling out. Dean laughed, and a sigh of exhaustion escaped him.

He left the Angel to continue resting and headed for the kitchen. With Bobby gone, there wasn’t much in the pantry to eat, but he managed to find a couple of potatoes, some eggs that he hoped were still good, and some coffee.

After he started the coffee to brew, he heated a pan with a bit of oil and chopped the potatoes. The little starchy chunks sizzled as they hit the hot oil, and he sprinkled a bit of salt and pepper over them, tossing them about. When they became fork tender, he cracked a few eggs into the pan, drowning the browned potatoes in yolk.

“What are you doing?”

Dean turned to find Castiel standing in the doorway, his clothes disheveled, and one side of his hair stuck straight up. The wrinkled imprint of the pillow was still visible on his face. Dean couldn’t help thinking how _adorable_ it was.

“Making breakfast,” Dean answered with a chuckle.

“You can cook?”

“Yes, I can cook,” Dean responded with mock offense, and returned his attention to the pan. “I practically raised Sam, and we got tired of cereal and pop tarts. So, whenever we were at a place that had a kitchenette, I’d experiment. I’m pretty damn good at it, if I do say so myself.” The corner of Dean’s mouth tugged slightly into a grin at the memory, before more recent memories wiped it away.

“Dean, I believe I need to…” At Castiel’s hesitation, Dean turned to find him standing slightly crooked with his legs squeezed together. Dean chuckled again.

“If you need to take a piss, the bathroom is down the hall and to the left.” Castiel scrunched his face, apparently uncomfortable with the notion of _taking a piss_ , but he followed Dean’s direction and disappeared down the hall.

After a few moments, he heard a muffled shout of surprise, frustration, and then a groan of relief.

“I ain’t cleaning that up,” Dean muttered to himself.

Castiel returned to the kitchen, and Dean was surprised to find that the Angel had managed to at least keep himself dry. Dean placed two plates of potato hash on the table and motioned for Castiel to sit.

“I do not require sustenance, Dean,” Castiel said plainly, and then a noisy growl sounded from the Angel’s stomach. He clutched at his middle and hunched over, as if in pain.

“That,” Dean said as he pointed at Castiel’s stomach with the spatula, “means you're hungry. Sit down and eat.” At Castiel’s hesitation, he added, “Trust me.” The Angel nodded and sat at the table. Dean placed two mugs down and filled them with fresh black coffee. After filling his own mug with about a fist’s worth of sugar, he pushed the sugar bowl toward Castiel. “For your coffee, if you want it. Careful, it’s hot.”

Castiel stared at the food, the coffee, and the sugar, as if he had no idea how to proceed. Then he picked up the mug and sniffed its contents before taking a tentative sip. Dean shuddered at the sight of him consuming straight black coffee, but Castiel seemed to have liked it. The Angel took a bigger gulp and started on his breakfast.

Dean was a champion eater of sorts. He loved food and he had the habit of destroying anything he ate very quickly. However, if he were to actually enter any sort of food competition with the Angel sitting across from him, he would surely lose.

Castiel shoveled massive heaps of the hash into his mouth, and managed to clean his plate in only four bites. He then proceeded to chug the bitter brew and sighed with satisfaction.

“That was...fulfilling. Thank you, Dean.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dean said, his mouth slightly agape in awe. He looked down at his own full plate of hash and began eating. “So what’s the plan?” he asked around a mouthful of food.

“I must stay hidden until the exuviation ends,” Castiel answered simply.

“Yeah, but you don’t know how long it will last. We need food, you seriously need some new clothes, and you can’t stay cooped up in this _nest_ for long.” Dean chuckled at his own pun. “You’ll go crazy. Hell, I’ll go crazy.”

“What do you find amusing, Dean?” Castiel tilted his head, a serious look plastered on his features.

“You know, with all the feathers…a _nest_ …” Dean sighed when the Angel’s face remained scrunched in perpetual confusion. “Nevermind. The point is, we don’t know what to expect. You’re already going through a lot of changes. You’re vulnerable.” Dean paused, losing himself in thought for a moment, and then said, “You should get an anti-possession tattoo.”

“I cannot be possessed. I am an Angel already inhabiting this vessel.”

“An Angel who is becoming more human. We don’t know what that means for the inside of your  meat suit. Something might be able to jump right in there with you, and you’d be incapable of fighting it off.”

“That is highly unlikely.”

“But it could happen. I can take you to get a tattoo today. Better safe than sorry.” Dean finished up the rest of his hash and gulped at his warm, sweet coffee.

“If you say so,” Castiel relented and nodded.  

“First, we should get you some new clothes. I’d bet you’ve never taken Jimmy’s suit off before, and worse yet, I bet you’ve never showered.” Dean waved a hand in front of his nose. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Dean deposited the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink and led Castiel to the bathroom. After searching a bit, he managed to find a fairly clean towel and handed it to Castiel.

“Soap is in here,” Dean explained as he pushed aside the shower curtain. He turned the knob to start a steady spray of hot water. “You scrub your hair and skin with it.” Dean turned to exit the bathroom. “And it should go without saying, but be sure to remove your clothes before getting in the water.”

Dean pulled the door closed, but left it open just a crack. He could see Castiel’s reflection in the bathroom mirror. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to stand there, but he found himself watching as Castiel stripped his shirt and sweatpants.

The Angel’s chest was revealed first, then he turned to reveal his lean, athletic back. There were two vertical marks, about ten inches long, one over each shoulder blade. They looked like faded scars, but the skin was obviously smooth. He followed the planes of Castiel’s back down to the muscular curve of the Angel’s backside, and Dean could feel a warmth blooming in his cheeks. Castiel turned, and Dean stepped back and out of sight of his view of the mirror, just in time to avoid catching sight of anything else.

Dean returned to the kitchen to wash the breakfast dishes. When he got to the sink, he leaned over it and breathed deeply. He didn’t understand what was going on. Sure, Castiel was his best friend, but these new _feelings_ were confusing. He considered doing a little research on his own to figure out what might be going on with himself.

* * *

After a short trip to a local thrift store, Castiel now sported a navy blue form-fitting t-shirt, a pair of Wranglers and the ugliest brown cardigan that Dean had ever seen. Dean had insisted on a brown leather jacket, which he did purchase for the Angel, but Castiel wore it under his ever-present trench coat.

“Aren’t you hot wearing all those layers?” Dean asked.

“No, Dean. I am…” Castiel paused to evaluate his state of being. “Comfortable.”

“Yeah, well you might not be for long. Leather doesn’t exactly _breathe_.”

Their next stop was a tattoo place. _Hell’s Parlour_.

“Quaint,” Dean said sarcastically as he entered the red-tinted tattoo parlour. The walls were painted with a collage of tattoo designs, mostly of demons and scantily-clad—if clad at all—women. “And kind of appropriate, huh, Cas?”

Castiel glanced around with wide eyes, but said nothing. Dean clapped him on the back and walked to the counter. The man behind the counter looked the part of the burly biker type that generally worked in such establishments as this. His beard was coarse and hung down to his chest, which was covered with a rather worn looking leather vest. Patches adorned the black leather, and various tears were stitched in a way that suggested both style and care.

“My friend here needs a tattoo,” Dean explained. The man, who had to be twice as big as Dean, and twice was hefty, smiled. It was an unexpected gesture from someone so rough in appearance.

“Welcome to _Hell’s Parlour_ , friends,” the man greeted politely. “Name’s Tiny. What are we looking to get today?”

Dean pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal the anti-possession tattoo he had on his chest. “He’d like to get this symbol.” Dean turned to Castiel, who was still standing passively, mouth slightly agape as he took in the colorful walls. “Wherever he wants,” Dean finished with a smile, his eyes involuntarily raking the Angel’s form from head to toe.

Tiny grinned and nodded with a certain sparkle in his eyes that Dean could not identify. He motioned for the men to follow him to one of the tattoo chairs, but Castiel still didn’t move.

“Come on, Cas, we need to get this done. It will be fine, I promise,” Dean assured him. “Where do you want to get it?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel whispered shakily.

“Well, anywhere too close to the bone hurts the worst. The ass is tolerable, but stings like a bitch. I’d suggest the chest, back, or arms. But if you want it on the ass...” Dean arched his eyebrows and laughed.

Castiel took a deep breath and sighed.

“I suppose the chest will do, same as yours, Dean.” Dean nodded and led Castiel over to the waiting tattoo artist.

After Dean’s tattoo was sketched and prepped, Dean persuaded Castiel to remove his jackets and shirt, and helped him lean back against the tattoo chair. At the sound of the buzzing needle, the fearless Angel jumped, a tiny strangled noise escaping his throat. Dean gripped his hand to reassure him.

“It won’t hurt too bad,” Dean said. “You might even like it.” Dean waggled his eyebrows.

Tiny brought the buzzing needle slowly to Castiel’s chest and began his work. At the first prick, Castiel tensed and squeezed Dean’s hand, but he made no more strangled noises or protests.

“Matching tattoos, huh?” Tiny asked after a few minutes. “Yeah, my partner and I have matching tats too.” Tiny paused in his progress to lift his left sleeve. Half of a bleeding heart was etched colorfully into the skin, just below the shoulder. “He’s got the other half of course. Been together ten wonderful years,” he explained with a gleaming smile. “How long have y’all been together?”

Dean’s eyes widened as he stuttered, “W-what? No, we’re not together. We’re just...friends.” Despite the awkward turn in conversation, Dean did not release Castiel’s hand.

“My mistake,” Tiny chuckled. “Y’all just seem to have a connection about you. I have a knack for picking up on those things. And the matching tattoos…”

“We share a bond,” Castiel added matter-of-factly. “It is very profound.”

Dean barked out a laugh. “That’s true enough,” he said and thought about the scar of a handprint on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to explain yourselves to me,” Tiny said. “Relationships are personal and mean different things to different people.” Tiny smiled and continued his work. “But you seem close.”

Dean looked from Tiny to Castiel, who was focusing his attention on the pistoning needle at his chest. He shook his head and involuntarily squeezed Castiel’s hand.

The Angel squeezed back.


	3. Cobbler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking liberties here, but that is fanfiction... just saying.

**Chapter 3: Cobbler**

Dean and Castiel sat in the Impala after they were finished with Castiel’s tattoo.

“Hey buddy, you okay to go to the grocery store still, or did the tattoo take too much out of you?”

“I did not like that one bit,” Castiel said sullenly.

“Hey, now you match Sammy and me,” Dean said with a laugh. “Grocery store? I’ll let you pick whatever you want.”

“Sure, whatever,” Castiel replied uninterested.

“You know what they say, food and sex,” Dean said with a hearty laugh. “Makes humanity worth it. Anything you want to try?”

“Perhaps,” the Angel replied cryptically with a sidelong glance.

Dean nodded and ignored the blush that threatened to warm his cheeks as he shifted the Impala into drive. When they parked outside the big grocery store, Dean turned to Castiel. “Anything you see that you want to try, just put it in the cart. Stay close, I don’t want you getting lost.”

“Dean, just because I’m weakened, does not mean I’m incompetent. I can still take care of myself,” he said, obviously annoyed.

“I know, dude. Just--for my peace of mind.”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel acquiesced and rolled his eyes in a very teenage girl kind of way.

They got out of the Impala and stepped through the sliding glass doors of the grocery store. Dean watched as Castiel’s eyes grew round and large at the opulence of the interior. “Is all this food necessary for human survival?”

“Not really necessary, Cas. Humans only need a few basic things in terms of nourishment to survive,” Dean explained as he pulled a cart from the stack and wheeled it over to where Castiel was staring wide-eyed at a display of oranges. “Humans like variety, and food is one way to achieve that.”

Castiel simply nodded and double-fisted some oranges off the stack and placed them in the cart. Dean smiled at Castiel as he began putting one or two of everything he saw into the cart. When they reached the peppers, Dean cautioned, “Those are really very spicy, Cas. Maybe you should skip those.”

“No, Dean,” Castiel insisted as he grinned at Dean. “I believe I would like to try _everything!_ ”

Dean’s mouth went dry at Castiel’s expression. It was the first time he had seen something close to joy on his friend’s face and it was _beautiful._ Castiel’s brilliant blue eyes shone with curiosity, and the curve of his mouth radiated delight. It was a welcome change, in Dean’s humble opinion, to Castiel’s blank expression and his more recent look of despondency. Dean wanted to see Castiel happy more often, and it seemed food accomplished that. It was something they had in common, something they could _share_.

Dean laughed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

It didn’t take long to fill the cart. Dean even managed to grab some essentials like bread, milk, eggs, and flour amongst Castiel’s odd choice of _everything else-_ -three different coffees for fucks sake!--and they paid and left.

When they returned to Bobby’s, the two men worked diligently to unpack the Impala of all of their purchases, refusing to grab no fewer than four bags per hand.

Dean worked on spaghetti for their dinner as Cas went to put away his new clothes. When he came back down to the kitchen wrapped in that god-awful brown cardigan, he stated, “I believe I would like some coffee, Dean.”

“So make some,” Dean said and then sighed. “I’ll show you how.”

“I would appreciate that,” Castiel said with a small smile.

“Well, first thing,” Dean explained as he grasped Castiel’s elbow and pulled him over to the coffee maker. “This is Mister Coffee.”

“Dean,” Castiel scolded. “Quit being an imbecile and teach me how this works.”

“No really,” Dean chuckled as he tapped the label on the front of the machine. “It’s a _Mister Coffee_.”

“Ha-ha,” Castiel said with what was becoming his patented eye-roll.

Dean pulled the Angel in front of the machine so he could see all the parts and moved to stand behind him. “That reservoir there, fill it to the max line. Use the carafe- the pot that holds the coffee- to do it. Then replace the filter, here, with a new one and add three and a half scoops of coffee.” Dean showed him how to do everything. He inched closer to the Angel as though pulled by a magnet. Dean’s voice dropped an octave and he whispered, “Then you press the red button there,” into his ear.

Castiel made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded like a growl, turned around and gazed up into Dean’s eyes. “Dean,” he said shyly. “Do you think--”

Suddenly the pot on the stove bubbled and sputtered, and water hissed on the heated flat top. “Shit!” Dean exclaimed and rushed over to the pot. “Sorry.”

“It is quite alright,” he replied and Dean could swear he heard disappointment in Castiel’s tone.

Dean salvaged dinner, scraping some of the noodles that had glued to the bottom of the pot into the sink, and the two sat down together.

“Hey, man,” Dean started and cleared his throat.

“Hmm?”

“What’s going on with your mojo?” Dean asked trying not to sound concerned. Castiel pondered for a moment before answering.

“I still have it, but it feels as though someone put it into a bottle and screwed the lid on tightly. I believe, if I tried hard enough, I could tap into my grace. However, it would be very difficult. I believe that is why I am cold.” He paused and took a bite of his pasta. Dean watched as his eyes grew large. ”This is really very good,” he exclaimed, a brilliant smile on his face.

“Thanks,” Dean coughed and then changed the subject. “The feathers. Should I be doing anything with them, besides keeping them safe for you?”

Castiel sat back in his chair. “You can actually see my feathers?”

“Yes, I told you that yesterday! I’ve got them in a pillowcase. A nice one, really high thread count,” Dean boasted with a grin. “It’s probably Sam’s.”

“Apologies, Dean. My mind was occupied yesterday, and I must have missed you telling me. I do not know what that means, however. You shouldn’t be able to see them.” Castiel said with a questioning look. “It is...unusual.”  

“How do you really know?”

“You’re correct. It really is unknown territory, for both of us. I had assumed that since my wings remained on another plane, so would my falling feathers. No other Angel has gone through exuviation on Earth that I know of. It happens in Heaven, as I have already mentioned. When Balthazar went through his, he went into a hibernative state, and I didn’t see him for the equivalent of thirty human years. He would not speak of it afterwards.”

“This is going to last thirty years?” Dean asked incredulous, and maybe a little _hopeful._

“Not necessarily. Things move and work differently in Heaven. When last I saw my wings, things were progressing quickly. I had lost about a fourth of my feathers.”

“When was that? Can I see your wings?” Dean waggled his eyebrows, playfully curious, but undeniably excited at the idea of seeing them.

“Sharing one’s wings outside of Heaven is very personal.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Dean asked, feeling a slight pain in his chest at the thought.

“It is not that. I trust no one more than you,” Castiel said softly. “It’s just--”

“Personal. Yeah, I get it,” Dean said, unable to mask the hurt in his voice. He stood and began clearing the table.

“Dean--” Castiel started, but Dean held up a hand to stop him.

“No, Cas. It’s okay.” Dean reassured him with a soft smile.

“Thank you.”

“Well, I cooked. You get you ass over here and clean up,” Dean demanded sassily and he spent the better part of an hour teaching the Angel how to wash dishes.

* * *

After the dishes were cleaned and put away, Dean asked, “You tired? We could make something sweet and watch a movie. What do you think?”

“I think I would enjoy that very much. You can teach me how to use the kitchen.” Castiel’s smile was blinding.

“Sounds fun,” Dean said with grin. “Hold up.”

Dean ran down the steps to the laundry-slash-panic room and grabbed two jars off the shelf. He came back up and placed the jars on the counter.

“Bobby cans every year. Something he used to do with his wife, or something. We don’t have time to make a pie, so we’re going to make the next best thing--cobbler.”

“Okay,” Castiel said, excitement lacing his voice.

Dean could feel the Angel’s eyes on his back as he moved around the kitchen gathering equipment and ingredients.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked as he stepped up to the counter close to Dean.

“Gettin’ everything ready,” Dean answered. “It’s a good idea if you’re baking. First thing, start the oven. Three-fifty please.” Dean showed the Angel how to turn on the oven to get it preheated Then he opened a stick of butter to put it in the pan, and slid it onto the rack to melt as the oven heated.

“Why did you do that, Dean?”  Castiel asked motioning to the oven door.

“I don’t know. It’s what the recipe says to do, and it is a _good_ recipe,” Dean said. “With baking you need to follow the recipe, for the most part. Cookin’ you can experiment more- especially when you get a handle of which flavors go well together.” At Castiel’s nod, he continued. “Then you get the batter ready. The recipe says to cook your peaches first, but we’re using canned so that isn’t necessary. The peaches are cooked in the canning process.”

Castiel watched Dean whisk the batter, while Dean explained everything to the Angel. The difference between a tablespoon and a teaspoon, how to make all purpose flour into self-rising flour, and how the batter tastes better with a splash of vanilla and almond extracts. When it was finished being mixed, Dean stuck his finger into the batter and pulled it out.

“Taste,” Dean urged. He meant it to be an innocent gesture but when the Angel placed his lips around his finger and sucked it clean, Dean fought against the compulsion to moan. It took everything he had not to take his own taste of the batter straight out of the Angel’s mouth.

Castiel moaned as the flavors hit his tongue, “Dean, that is delectable.”

Dean’s arousal grew difficult to ignore as his pants became increasingly tighter. He coughed, “Wait until it’s baked. Let’s finish it. Grab the pan out of the oven, use the towel so you don’t burn yourself.” Castiel did as he was told and was more careful than Dean had expected. Despite the distraction, his arousal still persisted. Dean had to count to ten and invoked images of Sam, Bobby, and finally his Father, to calm himself down before he could add, “I used to call this magic cake when I made it for Sammy as a kid.”

“You made this as a child?”

“Well yeah, Dad would drop us off here, or wherever, and I’d get to cook. Or bake. I liked it. I still like it.”

Castiel smiled. “I am honored that you shared this happy memory of your childhood with me, Dean, and that you are teaching me how to do it.”

Dean grinned back. “Well you can use just about any fruit, but I know that Bobby always has peaches on hand. Anyway, you pour the batter into the melted butter, but don’t mix the butter in. Then you open the peaches and just pour both jars on top. Bake it for 30 minutes, and then you’ll get to see the magic!

Castiel grinned. ”I can’t wait!”

“If you clean up, I’d like to shower,” Dean said returning the grin. When Castiel nodded, “Thanks. I’ll be down in a bit.”

Dean had been trying to figure out how to make it to the shower without alerting his friend to the growing bulge in his pants. Unfortunately, his dick hadn’t received the memo that Castiel didn’t need Dean jumping his bones, especially while ill, and Dean didn’t crave the feeling of inadequacy that would surely follow. For fucks sake, Castiel was an Angel of the Lord, larger than life, and Dean was merely human.

More than anything, Dean wanted to take care of Castiel, to be his friend. There would be _no more_ than that, no matter what he might be feeling. And, _god_ , he was _feeling_.

Seeing Castiel in the throes of domesticity put thoughts in Dean’s head, thoughts of an Apple Pie Life, a lifetime of happiness. But Dean didn’t get to have that life, nor did he deserve it. He was a hunter, and always would be. On top of that, _he_ had started the apocalypse, and no matter how unintentional that had been, he had to fix it.

Dean shook his head and cleared his mind. Castiel had to get better before they worried about the apocalypse. There would be no fixing it or stopping it, without the Angel. So, Dean _had_ to get himself under control!

He undressed quickly, stepped under the spray of the shower, and turned it to _cold_. He was halfway through soaping himself when the door busted open, and the shower curtain was pushed aside.

“Dean, I tried the strawberries and blueberries that we bought today. I couldn’t stop eating them. So, I need you to go to the grocery store and get me some more strawberries and blueberries. I want to try cooking with them.”

“What the fuck, Cas!” Dean exclaimed as he moved to cover his junk.

“I have a penis, too, Dean,” Castiel said dismissively. “Yours is prettier and thicker than mine, but it’s basically the same,” Castiel said as he rolled his eyes.

“Still, private,” Dean muttered. “And quit rolling your eyes. It’s damn annoying.“

Castiel waved his hand to dismiss Dean’s concerns. “So will you go to the store?”

“Sure. Let me finish showering,” Dean said, unable to deny the Angel anything.

“Thanks!” Castiel exclaimed as he rushed out of the room.

Dean wondered if the exuviation was having an effect on Castiel’s recent mood swings. The Angel wasn’t usually so... _lively_. Perhaps, it was because the Angel wasn’t used to the emotions now coursing through his being, so he had little control over them. He didn’t really know, but Dean was growing fond of the sparkle in his eyes when he talked excitedly about something as mundane as berries, and he couldn’t deny the warmth he felt when he saw it. But, he hoped that Castiel’s emotions would quickly stabilize. Dean was having a hard time keeping up.

Dean finished his shower and dressed quickly into his sweats. For a quick trip to the store, he really didn’t care what he looked like, and with his Angel at home waiting for him, he had no desire to pick anyone up.

He may as well pick up ice cream for the cobbler anyway.

His trip to the store was uneventful. He grabbed a flat of both types of berries and some vanilla bean ice cream. The checkout clerk joked about how far along his wife was and if she was craving berries. He muttered something about strange men and left quickly.

He dropped the berries off on the table for Castiel and noticed that the cobbler had finished baking and was sitting on top of the oven.

“Cas?” He called.

“Dean!” Castiel said as he popped off the couch like an over-excited rabbit. “I pulled the cake out. It really was magic! The fruit ended up on the bottom. I don’t know how it happened, but I can’t wait to try it.”

“Slow down, dude. The fruit is heavier than the cake, the baking powder lightens the batter during the baking process, forcing the fruit to the bottom and the cake rises to the top,” Dean explained with a grin.

Castiel nodded and Dean laughed when he could feel the man vibrate in anticipation. “How much coffee have you had?”

“The whole pot.”

“So, too much coffee. We’re switching you to decaf in the evenings. I’ll probably regret this, but let’s add some sugar on top of all that caffeine.”

Dean scooped out two heaping helpings of the cobbler and topped it with ice cream. As they sat down on the couch, he flipped on a show for background noise, but Dean could still only focus on the sounds of utter bliss emitting from the Angel.

Dean chuckled. “Like it?”

“Dean. I have no words for how much I _love_ this. This makes me very happy.”

Dean smiled. Making him happy would be enough. It _had_ to be enough.

“Dean, I need to clear something up with you,” Castiel said seriously as he sat his now empty bowl on the coffee table.

“Shoot.”

“You know I was a warrior in Heaven, correct?”

“Yes,” Dean said slowly.

“I spent much of my existence in battle before I met you.” Castiel took a deep breath. “Because of that, my wings are not attractive. They are scarred and ugly. They have been broken and reset several times. My grace can only do so much in healing them, so when they are injured, much of the healing is done naturally. On top of the scarring, they are very dark, and not like the lighter, more attractive wings. That is, in part, why I am apprehensive in showing them to you.”

“You know none of that matters to me, right? I have been picking up your feathers all day, and have marveled at how beautiful they are. As for the scarring, I have scars too. It’s what makes us unique. Fuck, Cas, I have a scar of your handprint on my shoulder. Scars tell our stories,” Dean said gently. After a moment, he added, “You know your feathers are the same color as the Impala, right?”

Castiel’s eyes grew large and round and Dean could see the moment Castiel made his decision, in the way the man’s beautiful blue eyes flickered. “I will show you. I trust you implicitly, Dean. Plus, I have a few feathers that are painful, and I need your assistance in their removal.”

Dean nodded. “I’ll help anyway I can.”

Castiel stood and took a deep breath. He removed his sweater and shirt and stood facing away from Dean to reveal his back. His wings slowly unfurled. Once visible to Dean, he immediately noticed the feathers that were laying at odd angles.

Dean reached his hand out and ghosted his fingertips over the wingbone. He could see the gnarled bone, but it wasn’t ugly. “Your wings are gorgeous,” he breathed. “May I?”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel said, voice husky.

Dean carded his fingers through Castiel’s dark wings, smoothing out bent and crooked feathers.

When Dean stepped back, Castiel turned. “Thank you, Dean. That was--”

“Yeah,” Dean whispered as he inched closer to the other man. Castiel’s hand came up to rest on the shoulder where he had left his mark, and the scar tissue seemed to burn beneath the fabric of Dean’s henley. And Dean couldn’t be sure, but he thought he could feel the Angel tugging at him. So, Dean moved even closer, until their chests were a hair’s breadth apart, their scents and breaths mingling.

“Dean,” Castiel started.

“Castiel,” Dean breathed.

 _‘Runnin’ with the Devil!’_ blared from Dean’s pocket.

“Fuck!” Dean exclaimed. _Fuck you to fucking hell, Van Halen!_ Dean yelled in his head. Dean had thought it was funny when he set the ringtone, but now all he wanted to do was thrown his phone out the window.

 _‘I’ll tell ya all about it!'_ his phone continued.

Dean whimpered slightly as Castiel moved away, “You had better answer that, Dean.”

Dean nodded. “It’s Sammy.”

“That choice of song is in poor taste then,” Castiel admonished, voice still husky with desire.

“Cas--” Dean started but the phone interrupted again.

“See what Sam wants,” Castiel whispered. “I will be here.”

Dean nodded and walked out the front door, to put space between the Angel and himself, and answered the phone.

The phone call left him pissed. Sam didn’t want to talk about anything important. He had no answers and was still in fucking California for fucks sake. Dean may have been a little too harsh when he told his brother not to call back unless he actually had something to say.

He hung up, went back inside, and locked the door. He looked around for Castiel, and found a trail of feathers. Dean followed it and picked up each soft feather, adding to the mental tally he had going in his head. He found Castiel starfished on top of the covers in bed on his stomach, with his wings open and relaxed around him, and clad only in boxers. He was fast asleep.

 _Fuck,_ Dean thought, eyes on his suffering friend. _What am I going to do?_


	4. Burned

**Chapter 4: Burned**

The delightful aroma of fresh brewed coffee brought Dean floating toward consciousness. He lifted his head, a musty page of the ancient book he had inadvertently used as a pillow sticking to his cheek, and sat up. His back creaked with the strain of sleeping hunched over a table all night, and he stretched his arms above his head as he stood, feeling instant relief at the answering pops he felt in his joints.

After he had checked on Castiel the night before, he went back down to Bobby’s study to research all the shit that was happening. He had fallen asleep doing research on Castiel’s exuviation, and on what might be happening within his own mind, but he came up empty. Dean had always had little aptitude for research. Sam and Castiel were the experts, and while Sam might be able to find something on the exuviation process, there was no way in hell he’d discuss his confusing feelings with his brother. He’d likely never hear the end of it. Castiel might be able to shed some light on the latter issue, but Dean was reluctant to talk with the Angel about it until he got a better handle on the situation.

He followed the sounds of clanking dishes to the kitchen where he found Castiel whisking something in a metal bowl. His feet were bare and his wings were out, folded neatly behind his back. They were starting to look sparse of their feathers. Dean wondered passively how quickly the new feathers would begin to grow in.

“Cas?” The Angel turned and Dean could see that he was covered head to hip with flour.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel beamed, his teeth as stark white as the flour. “Do you like pancakes?”

“Damn right, I do,” he answered with a grin. Dean walked to the coffee pot and poured himself some brew. After drowning it in sugar, with a touch of milk, he took a seat at the kitchen table. “Where did you learn to make pancakes?”

“The Internet,” he replied simply. Castiel had his back to him, preparing to cook the pancakes. Dean noticed the laptop open on the table. A video of “How to Make Pancakes” was pulled up on YouTube.

“How exactly did you figure out how to use the good ‘ole World Wide Web?” Dean asked, his lips quirking into an amused grin.

“I called Sam.” Dean’s smile vanished.

“You what?”

“Sam told me how to use the computer, what the Internet was, and where to find YouTube videos,” Castiel answered, saying “YouTube” as if it was in quotation marks. “You were sleeping, and I did not wish to disturb you.”

“What else did you talk about?” Dean tried to sound nonchalant. He wasn’t sure why the idea of Castiel reaching out to Sam bothered him. Perhaps it was because, even with something as simple as using the Internet, Dean wanted to be the one to teach Castiel everything he needed to know.   

Castiel grunted suddenly, and the clang of the metal spatula hitting the floor rang throughout the kitchen.

Dean was on his feet at once.

“Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine, Dean.” The Angel was cradling his right hand to his abdomen. Dean turned and gently took Castiel’s hand to examine it. There was a bright red patch of skin on the side of the Angel’s right forefinger.

“You’ve burned yourself,” Dean observed. “Here, hold it under cold water.” Dean led Castiel to the kitchen sink and held his finger under the running faucet. The Angel’s closeness caused a warmth to seep through Dean’s skin where they touched, and his face reddened considerably. “Better?” he asked after a few minutes.

“Yes. Thank you, Dean,” Castiel answered softly. Dean reached to turn the faucet off, but they otherwise remained unmoved. Dean held Castiel’s hand, the skin softer than he had imagined, and stroked a thumb over the angry colored flesh of the burn. It was the Angel that broke the spell.

“Thank you,” he said again. He pulled his hand from Dean’s grasp and bent to collect the spatula from the floor to wash it off. Still feeling pleasantly warm from the direct contact, Dean’s cheeks flushed even more as he returned to his seat at the table. Castiel continued cooking and when he asked, “Would you like some more coffee, Dean?” things seemed almost normal again. That is, if Dean going absolutely crazy for his best friend could be considered _normal_.

Despite being his first time cooking on his own, Castiel’s pancakes were divine. They were golden and fluffy, soaked with butter and syrup, and topped with a small mound of fresh berries. Dean groaned pleasurably in response to shoveling mouthfuls at a time past his now sticky lips.

“These are perfect, Cas,” he said finally, as he sopped up the remaining syrup with the last bite of flapjack. Castiel flashed a proud smile, but had hardly eaten half of his breakfast, content with picking lazily at the bright red and blue fruit. His eyes drooped slightly, and his face had begun to pale. “You alright?” Dean asked, concerned.

“Yes, I am…” Castiel sighed and shook his head. “No, Dean. I do not believe I am well.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It is hard to say, but I do not feel quite myself. A few minutes ago, I was fine. But now…”

“What is it?” Dean urged at Castiel’s hesitation.

“The burn on my finger,” he said as he held it up for observation. “It stings.”

“Well, yeah.” The corner of Dean’s mouth turned upward in a half-grin. “Burns hurt like hell. But that’s a mild one. It should be better in a day or two.”

“You do not understand, Dean. I can _feel_ it, but I should not be able to. My grace would have normally taken care of something damaging my vessel.” Castiel stared at his reddened finger intently, as if willing it to heal in that moment, but nothing happened.

Dean took two long strides to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of clear gel. Taking hold of Castiel’s hand, he squirted a bit of the substance on the injured finger and rubbed it in.

“This should help with the sting. It’s aloe vera gel. Do you think that this change has something to do with your exuviation?” Dean offered still stroking the gel into the wound.  

“Perhaps.” Castiel rolled his shoulders as if his shirt was too confining. “However, this body is more than my vessel. Jimmy was reaped a while back to protect his family, and it belongs solely to me now. With my grace waning, I think maybe I am becoming more conscious of this body’s needs and feelings.” Castiel yawned.

“That sounds plausible. I do know I spent half the night in Bobby’s books and I found nothing on Angel exuviation. Without more information, we are makin’ it up as we go, in true Winchester fashion,” Dean stated softly. He conveniently left out the effects he was feeling. Dean knew that the need to talk and figure out what was going on between them was imminently approaching, but when Castiel yawned again, he dropped his friend’s hand and whispered,“You should get some more rest. Go lay down, and I’ll clean up the kitchen.” Dean stood and collected their plates, taking one more discreet bite out of Castiel’s uneaten breakfast before dumping it into the trash.

The Angel nodded, stood and headed for the stairs. Without turning, he whispered, “Dean, thank you.”

Castiel had thanked Dean several times this morning alone, but this particular bout of gratitude felt loaded with _more._ Castiel could be thanking him for more than cleaning up, for taking care of him, or maybe for not abandoning him. However, Dean wasn’t ready to examine what else this simple phrase could mean yet, so he simply whispered, “Thanks for breakfast, Cas. It was delicious.”

Castiel turned then, and forced a soft smile and a nod, before he ascended the stairs.

* * *

Castiel slept for most of the day, sprawled on his belly as was his usual fashion. Dean checked on him from time to time, collecting the feathers that continued to fall and trying to correct the crooked ones that still remained intact. His finger snagged in the tangle of feathers once or twice, but the Angel remained undisturbed. So, Dean indulged in stroking his fingers in the grooves between the dark silken plumes, reveling in the softness of them. The serenity he felt was unparalleled.

It wasn’t until the evening that Castiel emerged from slumber. Dean was prepping a couple of steaks with salt and pepper when he heard a shuffle at the entrance to the kitchen.

“Your stomach wake you up?” Dean asked with a smile, without turning away from his task.

“Dean,” Castiel breathed. The weakness in his voice caught Dean’s attention and he abandoned the steaks to rush to his friend’s side. The Angel was propped heavily against the door frame, and his face was pale, a contrast to his bright red nose.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean exclaimed. “Sit down, quick.” He put his arm around Castiel, and led him to a chair at the kitchen table. Without removing his arm, Dean crouched down next to him. Castiel’s head fell heavily onto Dean’s chest, and he groaned as if in pain. Lifting a hand, Dean pressed it against Castiel’s forehead. It wasn’t feverish yet, but it was warm. “How do you feel?”

“My body aches all over, I have a splitting headache, and my nose refuses to stop oozing slime.” Castiel took a shuddering breath. “I believe I’m dying, Dean.”

As unwell as Castiel seemed, Dean couldn’t withhold a grin. “You probably have a cold, Cas. Maybe even the flu. But you ain’t dying.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve been this sick before. Everyone has. It only lasts a few days at most, and all you need is some ibuprofen, plenty of liquids, and decent rest.” Castiel sniffed hard and wiped his nose. Dean could feel the moisture on his shirt and he grimaced. “And a big box of tissues.” Dean removed his arm, and went down the hall to retrieve the box of tissues from the bathroom. He held it out, and Castiel pulled two white tissues from the box, subsequently blowing into them with a sound not unlike that of a strangled goose.

“Itd feelds like ‘m dyin’,” Castiel said through his now stuffy nose.

“Well, I suppose technically the virus is trying to kill you, but your immune system is fighting it.”

“So how did I get this way in the first place?” the Angel demanded.

“Germs are everywhere, Cas. I’d guess your immune system is weaker than usual, due to your exuviation.” Castiel scoffed, and Dean narrowed his eyes. “How the hell should I know? I don’t know any more about this process than you do.”

“You are right, Dean. I am simply irritated. Forgive me.” Castiel reached a hand over his shoulder to scratch at his back where his wings twitched.

“Forgiven,” Dean responded readily, all traces of frustration gone. “Do you think you can eat? It’s steak and potatoes.” Dean grinned from ear to ear. “One of my favorites.”

“I can try,” Castiel said right before his head hit the table with a thud.

It became clear sometime later, when Castiel suddenly and violently expelled remnants of his steak dinner into the sink, that the Angel indeed had the flu.

After helping Castiel clean himself up, he handed the Angel three small brown pills and a glass of water. “Down the hatch with those, and drink all the water.” Then Dean led him back to the bedroom and settled him under the covers, careful to spread his wings to the side so as not to be squashed under the lean weight of their owner. Touching the back of his hand to various spots on Castiel’s face, Dean noted that his skin had turned feverish after all. He retrieved a cold, damp wash rag from the bathroom and draped it over Castiel’s forehead. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered as he pressed his palm to Castiel’s cheek.

“Don’t go,” Castiel whispered when Dean moved for the door.

“I’ll only be a moment, I promise.” Dean made his way quickly to Bobby’s cluttered back porch and located a metal pail. He then tracked down an extra quilt from the hallway closet, grabbed the one off Sam’s bed, and returned to the Angel’s side. He placed the pail at the side of the bed and laid the folded blanket over the back of his chair, ready for use when the inevitable fever chills set in, and draped the other over himself as he settled in to watch over his friend.

* * *

It was early the next morning when the front door of Bobby’s house burst open, and Dean heard the bathroom door downstairs slam shut, effectively waking him up.

Dean looked over at Castiel. The flush across his cheeks had receded, but he was still very pale. He got up and left the room, the door clicking quietly behind him.

He met Sam on the stairs. “‘Bout time you got here,” Dean said quietly.

Sam flashed Dean his best bitchface. “Nice to see you too, jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean countered as they moved into the kitchen. After setting up some coffee to brew, Dean turned to his brother.

“Jerk. You look like shit,” Sam observed.

“You should see Cas,” Dean countered.

“Shit, I forgot my bag in the car. I’ll be right back,” Sam declared loudly as he rushed through the backdoor, letting it slam closed behind him.

“Shhh,” Dean hissed, but it was in vain. At that moment, the Angel walked in, wings drooping low and dragging on the floor.

“Dean,” he croaked. “My throat hurts.”

“I’ll make you some hot tea with honey,” Dean offered as he rushed over to the Angel and helped him into a chair. “That’ll help your throat. Do you think you’re up for eating?”

Dean chuckled at the green look that settled on Castiel’s face at the mention of food. He walked over to the cabinet by the stove and reached in for a package of saltine crackers, and then filled a saucepan with water and put it on the stove to boil. He returned to Castiel’s slumped form and handed him a sleeve of crackers. “Your tea should be done soon. Get a few of those crackers down and you can have more medicine,” Dean whispered to Castiel as he placed his hand on the Angel’s back and scratched between his wings.

“Okay, Dean,” Castiel purred as he leaned into the touch. “Do I really look that terrible?”

“You're sick. Everyone’s gross then,” Dean soothed, running his fingers softly down the large wingbone. “Someday you may get to take care of me while I am sick. I'm a bear, so I hope you're payin’ attention.”

It was then that Sam returned, his face lighting up with a look of utter delight.

“Quit looking at me like a golden retriever,” Dean growled, flipping off his brother as he went to fix Castiel’s tea.

“It’s just so domestic in here,” Sam replied with a sappy grin. “Hello, Cas. ”

“Hello Sam. Are you well? I am not well,” Castiel groaned and clutched at his head.

“Yeah, you don’t look too hot,” Sam sympathized, and then glanced at his wings curiously. “Wow, your wings are larger than I imagined. It’s this exuviation business that’s making them shed, right?”

“Maybe you should put your wings away, Cas,” Dean mumbled, trying not to sound possessive as he set down a mug in front of him. “Careful, it’s hot.”

“I have tried already, however I am unable to do so. I am probably too ill,” Castiel whispered and took a sip. “I would very much like to try this when I am feeling better, Dean.” He looked curiously into his mug.

Sam bent down to pick up one of the feathers that Castiel had shed on the way to the kitchen, and doubled over in pain. He violently expelled the entire contents of his stomach all over the floor. Dean rushed over to him. “Sam!”

“Dean, get me out of here,” Castiel roared as he clutched his head. Dean abandoned his brother and returned to his Angel.   

Dean lifted him, tossing his mangled wings behind him, and carried him up the stairs to place him on the bed.

“Hey buddy, you okay?”

“My head,” Castiel began but groaned as he rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands.

“Am I causing you problems?” Dean heard the screen door close as Sam left the house.

“No, Dean, you are a comfort to me,” Castiel whispered, the relief clear in his voice. “My feathers are tied to my being. Sam having demon blood, no matter how little, effects me. Usually it is easy to ignore, a gentle nagging in the back of my skull, but I suppose my weakened form is making it more difficult.”

“Oh,” Dean said lamely.

Castiel sneezed and wiped his nose on his arm. “Dean, I have a theory.”

“Shoot,” Dean said softly.

“I would like to caveat by saying it would have never mattered. However, with my exuviation, it may shed some light on why you are unaffected.”

“Okay,” Dean said warily.

“When I took your soul off the rack in Hell, it was badly damaged. So, I used a small amount of my grace to repair your soul. My feathers could be recognizing that grace,” he explained with a cough and a sneeze. “I held your shoulder as I mended your soul, and used my grace as a tool to heal your body. While I was making you whole again, I inadvertently burned you with my grace.”

“That is why we have this ‘profound bond’,” Dean deduced. “And how I got this.” Dean pulled the shoulder of his henley down and looked at the raised pattern of a handprint-shaped scar.

Castiel nodded.

“Alright,” Dean said trying to process the new information.

“Are you angry?” Castiel asked cautiously.

“Of course not, Cas. I was already used to the handprint. I just need to wrap my mind around the rest,” Dean said as he cupped the Angel’s face and stroked his cheek gently. “You're still a little warm, so I'll go get some more pills and tea. I need to deal with Sam too. I shouldn't be long.”

“Okay,” Castiel croaked as he settled under the covers again.

Dean ran back downstairs and out the door to his brother.

“You can’t stay here, Sam. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I was feeling queasy before, but I just figured that I ate something off. When I touched that feather,” Sam sighed. “Whew. That was terrible.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “And guess who gets to clean it up, bitch.”

“I didn’t know _that_ would happen, Dean!” Sam said emphatically. “You’ve been around him for a week, touching his feathers, hell even his wings, and you’ve never had that reaction. I’ll just have to help remotely.”

“Yeah, I’ve been having the exact opposite reaction,” Dean muttered and Sam shot him a look.

“What do you mean by that?” Sam asked seriously. “I mean it was really cozy in there.” Sam’s voice trailed off for a moment, as if hesitant to say something, but then he added, “You know that whatever goes on between the two of you is okay with me. You and Cas have something special, ya know?” Dean couldn’t help but hear the tinge of jealousy in his voice. He didn’t have to be a genius to realize how his burgeoning relationship with Castiel could be affecting his brother. Sam has always wanted someone to care for.  

“Don’t tell Cas. When I’ve worked out what’s going on, whether this _whatever_ is some compulsion from his exuviation or if it is actually me, then I’ll tell him,” Dean said gruffly. “Work on fixing the apocalypse. When Cas is in tip-top shape again, we’ll get out there too.”

Sam nodded. “Okay, Dean. I’ll call Bobby. He can tell me what books from his library I should look into about both topics. I’ll also warn him away. He’s with Rufus, so I’m not all that worried he’s coming home,” Sam said. “And, Dean?”

Dean glanced sideways at his brother.

“You and Cas? It isn’t compulsion. You guys have always had that freaky bond. You’ve also been a little in love with him from the moment you stabbed him in the heart, and he told you he was the one that pulled you from perdition. Don’t throw away this opportunity,” Sam said seriously. “You’ll regret it.”

“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean smiled softly, feeling warmed at Sam’s sentiment. “I’ve got to get back to him. But, email me a list of books and I’ll bring them to you. See ya soon.”

Sam nodded, returned to his car and headed back up the road.

Dean rushed upstairs and found Castiel sleeping roughly, his breathing laborious. He could hear the rattle in his lungs from the door and crouched beside the bed to take his friend’s cold hand. Peering at the pale fingers, Dean noticed a faint red mark on the index finger. The burn hadn’t yet healed, and Dean swallowed nervously. At his touch, Castiel’s eyes fluttered open.

“Dean,” Castiel coughed weakly.

“I’m right here, man,” Dean whispered from his perch at the side of the bed.

“Dean, I don’t feel well.”

“What exactly are you feeling?” Dean asked soothingly as he carded his fingers through the messy dark tresses on the Angel’s head. Dean noted that the man still felt very warm.

“My head aches and my wings feel as though they are being forcefully torn from my body. It hurts to breathe. I am so hungry, but fear I cannot keep food down.” He coughed weakly, but purred.  “That feels nice.”

“Did you want to try a bath? I can go get you something for your stomach. Tell me what I can do, I’ll do it. Cas--”

“I don’t think I can move,” Castiel winced.

“I’m going to go get you a couple of ibuprofen. Maybe those will help. I’ll be back in a few,” Dean said, voice strained and anxious. “Stay put.”

Dean was quick with the medicine and, after Castiel had swallowed it with a sip of water, he tucked him into bed.

Dean took up his watchful perch in the chair near the bed again until his friend fell asleep. It was going to be a long night.


	5. Remedy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful art provided by the extremely talented [serafire](http://serafire.tumblr.com/).

**Chapter 5: Remedy**

Dean stayed up very late listening to his friend’s labored breathing. Worried, and unable to find sleep for himself, he decided to go downstairs to make tea.

Instead of making tea, however, Dean sat at the kitchen table and cradled his head in his hands. With a deep sigh, he did something stupid, rash and just plain desperate.

He prayed.

The Angel he usually prayed to was currently indisposed upstairs, so he hoped he would get lucky. He was guaranteed a dick, but he hoped whoever showed up would be one of the friendlier and more understanding of the dicks.

The voice behind him startled Dean and he turned quickly.

“Dean-o! Stop praying before the actual assholes show up.”

“Gabriel. Fuck,” he sighed.

“That’s no way to greet an old friend,” Gabriel sassed.

“You’re no friend. But anyone who might have shown up wouldn’t be either, so whatever.”

Gabriel waved his hand in a very ‘neither here nor there’ fashion and asked, “Where’s that tall drink of water you call a brother?” Gabriel looked around intrigued. “Is that who you’re praying for?”

“Sam’s off trying to fix the apocalypse, amongst other things.”

“And you’re not glued to his side? So, who is it then? Surely not yourself?” Gabriel chuckled.

“It’s Cas. He’s sick. I was hopin’ you could mojo him,” Dean explained with a wave of his hands. “Make him better, and then get the hell out of here.”

“What kind of sick?”

“He called it ‘exuviation’.”

“That stupid bastard. Why the fuck is he here?” Gabriel growled at Dean.

“He’s not exactly safe in Heaven, now is he?” Dean shot back, his voice rising. Not wanting to disturb Castiel, he took a deep breath and explained more quietly, “He’s my best friend and I’m going to protect and take care of him.”

Gabriel looked incredulously at Dean. “I’ll take him to safety.”

“Like hell you will. He’s not leaving my side.”

“Well, my grace can’t do anything for him. Grace, doesn’t work so well on wings. That is especially true if it is someone else’s grace.”

“Yeah, he told me. Is there anything I can do then?”

“This happens in Heaven because there the Angel is shielded from the pain, and other crap, through a grace-induced hibernation. What symptoms has he been having?”

“Well, until recently he’s been eating, he’s been happy, and well, he’s affectionate. He then complained of being achy, and I’d swear he had the flu. He burned his finger making pancakes and it still hasn’t healed. His wings are droopy and sad looking.”

“How does someone hurt themselves making pancakes? Wait--nevermind.” Gabriel looked shocked. “He’s shown you his wings?”

“Yeah, so? When it’s just us, he keeps them out and I help with the stubborn feathers,” Dean stated with a shrug.

Gabriel gaped like a fish. “Do you actually have feathers then? Where?”

“I’m not telling you that, but I believe I have every single one that Cas has dropped,” Dean said with narrowed eyes. “There is nothing in the books about this, and the Internet is nothing but Angel porn. So, I’m at a dead end.”

“Sounds like you’re making your own version of Angel porn,“ Gabriel quipped with a waggle of his eyebrow.

“Shut up, you tool. Cas told me that no Angel has ever gone through exuviation on Earth.”

“That’s not true. I molted all over the damned Islands of Hawai’i. In the beginning, it didn’t matter. God then commanded that Angels exuviate in Heaven. I never suffered as bad as Cassie sounds, but I think I slept inside of a volcano through the worst of mine.”

“Well, Cas isn’t safe in Heaven, and he’s not leaving _me_ , so what can I do?” Dean pleaded.

Gabriel thought for a second, pacing in front of Dean.

“There is a remedy, if I remember right. It’s not going to be easy, but you have feathers so you’ve jumped that hurdle.”

“I’ll do anything to ease his pain. Please, Gabe,” Dean beseeched, broken.

“I’ll go get the flower you’ll need. It only grows in Israel. You’ll need agave nectar, a spoonful of chopped gala apple, one of his feathers, a pinch of crystal grace, and the steman of the Calanit flower. Crystal grace is rare, but I bet your Bobby has some around here somewhere. Steep it all together with a dark black tea, like assam, and have him drink it. My baby bro should improve quickly for more affectionate activities,” Gabriel said with air quotes and a booming laugh at Dean’s rude gesture, then he disappeared with the distinct sound of fluttering wings. Dean jotted down the recipe before he forgot any essential ingredients.

Gabriel returned shortly after with a large bouquet of red flowers.

“It won’t hurt to use the petals too.”

“I owe you one.”

“I did this for my brother. I’d much rather take him away with me, to somewhere safe. Protect him,” Gabriel said fervently.

“Over my dead body,” Dean vowed seriously.

“You actually mean that,” Gabriel said with awe, glancing hard at Dean again. “Usually, from what I remember, and I remember everything, humans are repelled by Angels in exuviation.”

“That’s why Sam isn't here. He picked up one of Cas’ feathers and ralphed violently all over the place. They couldn’t stand to be in the house with each other. Cas felt as though his skull was going to implode.”

“Even being repelled, you fight it just to take care of him, don’t you?”

Dean just shrugged. “It was exactly the opposite for me. I was completely drawn to him, and him to me.”

A flash of incredulous shock crossed Gabriel’s face, but he quickly masked it with his usual cocky expression of indifference. “Well whatever, Dean-o,” Gabriel said with a grin as he tore the wrapper off a dum-dum and popped it in his mouth. “Get started on the tea. You may think about drinking it too, so you don’t start having any adverse reactions to Cassie’s predicament either.”

Dean nodded. “Thanks, Gabe.”

“Call if things get worse. Peace out!” Gabriel yelled as he popped out.

Dean retrieved the previously used saucepan from the stove, rinsed it, and filled it with filtered water. After looking up what a stamen was, he popped the middle out of the flower, tore off a few petals, and put it in the water to steep.

 _Shit_. He needed to go to the store, _again_. He didn’t have anything he needed for the tea except the water and the flowers, and he needed to call Bobby about the crystal grace.

Dean ran upstairs to check on Castiel and to leave a note explaining where he had gone in case the Angel woke while he was away.

Outside in the Impala, Dean took a deep breath before placing his call to Bobby. After a stern warning of “no canoodling in his house,” Bobby told him that crystal grace was simply crystallized lavender, not rare at all as it turned out, and that he had some in his medicine chest in the bathroom. Dean was grateful that he didn’t have to find a Jesuit priest to bless some strange relic or something.

Dean spent less than twenty minutes in the store, picking out everything he needed for the tea and the fixings for chicken soup and mashed potatoes. The same checkout girl was there tonight too.

“You’re becoming a regular,” she chimed after Dean dumped his groceries onto the conveyor belt. “New in town?”

Dean was thoroughly distracted, and if it hadn’t been for the flip of her brilliant blonde hair flashing at the corner of his vision, he wouldn’t have heard the question.

“Nope,” Dean replied with a reluctant, but polite grin. “My uncle lives just outside of town.”

“He sick or something?” she asked casually.

“He’s out of town.” Dean noticed that she was taking her time scanning his groceries, and he tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter.

“Well, my name’s Jenny, if you--you know, were interested,” she offered as she blushed and batted her lashes.

“Crap, I forgot the apples,” Dean mumbled and looked around to see if anyone was waiting in line.

“If you want to run to get them, I’ll finish checking you out,” the girl said and then coughed a little. “I-I mean your groceries. Not you,” she stuttered. “Well, yeah, you too, but in this instance I mean your groceries.”

“Thanks.” Dean sprinted toward the produce section. He located the type of apple he needed and put twelve into a set of two bags, when it finally dawned on him. The checkout girl had been hitting on him. Thinking of Castiel, it was no wonder he had missed it.

Dean swiftly returned to the checkout, and the girl weighed and scanned the apples. He kept his eyes focused on the bags of food, careful to avoid her eager stare. After his final total was rung up on the register, he swiped his card and waited for the receipt.

“Well, thanks for shopping Food Town,” Jenny said with a sigh. “I’ve put my number on the receipt if you ever want to…”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Dean said hastily, slightly annoyed at her persistence. “I’m involved already, and he’s really sick, so I’ve got to go. Have a nice evening.”

The words came tumbling unbidden from his lips, and saying them shocked him. Dean Winchester did not do commitment (or even men for that matter). He did the exact opposite, in fact. He realized, however, that when it came to Castiel, Dean didn’t want something casual. He wanted _everything_.

 _Fuck_ , he thought. _I am so screwed_.

Back at home, Dean busied himself with brewing Castiel’s special tea. Using cheesecloth to strain the loose bits, he poured two cups of smooth, dark burgundy colored liquid. He lifted the first cup to his lips and sipped hesitantly. To his surprise, it wasn’t half bad. He half expected it to taste like ass, because knowing Gabriel, it would have.

Dean hooked his finger through the handle of the second cup and went upstairs to Castiel. The Angel was beginning to stir as Dean sat the cup on the nightstand.

“Hey Cas,” he whispered.

“Dean,” Castiel wheezed and turned onto his side to investigate the cup.

“I’ve brought you some tea. I need you to drink all of it,” Dean urged soothingly as he helped him sit up.

Castiel took the mug and drank deeply. “What kind of tea is this?” he asked, clearly recognizing the difference from the tea Dean had served him before.

“It’s a special tea, a herbal remedy, and it should help you feel better. Drink up.” Dean tilted his head back and took a large gulp of his own tea until the cup was empty, and urged Castiel with a silent gesture of his hands and a raise of his eyebrows to do the same.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Castiel said quietly.

“Of course. Nowhere I’d rather be.” And he meant it.

Castiel nodded. “Come sit with me,” he croaked.

Dean kicked off his boots and climbed onto the bed, situating himself on the covers next to his Angel. Castiel scooted closer and leaned his head against Dean’s shoulder, sighing contently. Dean found that he wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable with the proximity and promptly wrapped his arm around Castiel’s shoulder. Draining the last of his tea, Castiel handed Dean the cup to be placed back on the nightstand.

“Dean,” Castiel said as he rested his cheek on Dean’s chest.

“Yeah?” Dean whispered softly as he stroked the strong wingbone.

“Do you like me?”

“What do you mean? I think it’s fair to say that I do,” Dean laughed.

“You’ve been researching ways to help me feel better. You obtained a formula for a herbal remedy that is already doing wonders, and you’ve hardly left my side. You did not have to do any of that--” Castiel’s gravelly voice was interrupted by a rattly cough.

“I would do just about anything if it meant that you would suffer less,” Dean said with conviction. “You’re- you’re important to me, Castiel.”

Dean locked eyes with his Angel.

“I am in complete agreement, Dean.”

Dean’s arm tightened around the Angel. “Try to get some rest,” he muttered softly as he started to stroke his fingers through the mangled feathers of Castiel’s wings. “When you’re better, we’ll talk more.”

The Angel sniffed and nodded slightly, “Is this cuddling, Dean?”

Dean’s chest shook as he chuckled lightly and responded, “Yeah, Cas, this is cuddling.”

“It is very enjoyable.”

Dean couldn’t help but agree and he felt Castiel sigh and nuzzle his stubbled cheek against his chest before closing his eyes. It wasn’t long before they were well on their way to restful slumber.


	6. Pie

**Chapter 6: Pie**

Dean welcomed the next morning with a warm weight still resting against his chest, the form rising and falling with the steady breath of sleep. He sighed, content to not interfere with the Angel still slumbering in his arms, and watched as the line of sun from the window slowly crept across the floor. When the warm light touched the foot of the bed, Castiel finally stirred.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Dean chuckled and ran his fingers through Castiel’s messy dark hair. Castiel lifted his head, his eyes still sticky with specks of sleep and his now-scruffy face wrinkled with the imprint of Dean’s crumpled shirt. “Feeling better?”

“Yes, Dean. Thank you,” he answered after clearing his throat with a grunt thick with disuse and dehydration. “What about you?”

“Well, I slept in my jeans but otherwise it was the best sleep I’ve had in awhile. Are you hungry? Think you can stomach some breakfast?” Dean slid his arm out from behind Castiel’s shoulders and gently leaned him back against the pillows as he rose from the bed. “I can make more of that tea.”

“That would be nice.” Castiel’s voice was still gravelly, but his face was less pale and clammy than the night before. Dean touched a hand to the Angel’s forehead and nodded with a slight smile.

“Your fever is gone. Damn fine tea,” Dean said with a satisfied grin. “Wait here, and I’ll bring you up a cup.”

With another flash of white teeth, Dean left the room and headed downstairs to the kitchen. He rinsed the pot he’d used the night before, refilled it, and set it on the glowing red coil of the stove.

He found himself sending up a prayer of thanks to Gabriel as he prepared the miracle tea the trickster Angel had given him. So, it shouldn’t have been a surprise when Dean heard a sudden flutter of feathers behind him.

“How’s my bro doin’?” Gabriel asked as he juggled a lump of hard candy noisily in his mouth.

“Jesus,” Dean exclaimed. “I swear you Angels get some sick pleasure in scaring us humans half to death.”

“You’re not wrong, Dean-o,” he answered with a self-satisfied grin. “I take it the tea is working?”

“Yes. Why are you here?"

“You called for me, of course,” he said slyly.

“Like hell, I did,” Dean growled. Not only was he concerned that Castiel would overhear them talking, but he wasn’t keen on Gabriel’s company in the first place. “Showing gratitude doesn’t mean ‘Come down here and bother me’.”

“Same thing,” Gabriel shrugged. “I take it he’s feeling better then. Don’t forget to keep up with the tea yourself.” He wagged a finger at Dean. “No telling what might happen if you don’t.” Gabriel smirked, and Dean knew something was off in the way the Angel’s eyes sparkled.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to the stove. “I’m drinking just as much--” At the sound of fluttering feathers, Dean turned to find the kitchen empty. “Jackass,” he muttered.

When the tea was brewed, he poured a cup and took it upstairs to Castiel, who was sitting up in bed, picking at the feathers he could reach.

“Let me help with those,” Dean offered as he set the cup down on the side table, and settled on the side of the bed, turning the Angel away from him to fully inspect his wings. He proceeded to comb his fingers through Castiel’s feathers and gently freed the twisted plumes that were stuck out of the Angel’s reach. With each pluck, Castiel sighed with relief.

“That feels much better. Thank you, Dean.”

“You thank me too much,” Dean replied with a sideways grin. “I’m not doing anything as a favor to you. I’m helping you because I want to. I like to.”

Castiel turned his head to look over his shoulder at Dean. His vibrant blue eyes held Dean’s mossy green ones, and a moment passed when speaking became irrelevant. No arrangement of words was sufficient enough to express how much Castiel appreciated Dean, or how much Dean cared for the Angel.

Dean was the first to look away and break the silence.

“Be sure to drink your tea,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly. He stood from the bed and made for the door. “I’m going to whip us up some breakfast.”

Dean rushed from the room and closed the door without a backwards glance. He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart before descending the stairs to the kitchen. Moments later, Dean had a skillet warming on the stove while he scrambled some eggs in a glass bowl, focusing his attention on the swirl of clear white and yellow yolk. He considered frying some bacon as well, but thought better of it. _Too greasy_. Castiel’s stomach would likely still be sensitive.

The sound of rushing water caught his attention. The shower down the hall was in use. He hadn’t even heard Castiel come down the stairs, but now the Angel was standing several dozen feet away behind a door, wet and naked. Dean struggled to ignore this fact.

As distracted as he was, it was a wonder Dean didn’t burn the toast. He plated the eggs and lightly-buttered toast and filled two cups with the special tea, for himself and Castiel, just as the Angel emerged from the hallway bathroom.

Castiel, who had since hidden away his wings, was wearing one of his new sweaters and a pair of black slacks. He’d combed his hair, but the dark locks were still draped in a tangle across his forehead. He’d also attempted to shave. ‘Attempted’ being the key word, since little pieces of red-speckled tissue dotted his otherwise smooth face.  

“The razor was...difficult to use,” Castiel said, touching his face. Dean had yet to speak, and he realized he was staring, his mouth slightly ajar. He promptly closed it with a snap. “I have never had to shave before.”

“Shaving can be tricky,” Dean explained. “But I can show you how. Or, you can watch me.” The corner of Dean’s mouth upturned in a lopsided grin as he approached Castiel and threaded his fingers through the Angel’s dark hair, smoothing it to one side. “You shouldn’t worry too much about it though. A little scruff suits you.”

“Thank--” Castiel stopped and nodded his thanks instead, clearly accounting for Dean’s remark earlier on his ceaseless gratitude.

“Come on, breakfast is ready.” Dean motioned for Castiel to sit and placed a plate filled with scrambled eggs, toast and a cup of tea in front of him. Setting a place for himself, Dean sat and watched as Castiel picked at his food gingerly. “It should help you feel better,” he reassured him, sensing the Angel’s apprehension to the thought of any sort of food sitting well in his raw stomach.  

“If you say so,” he replied, unconvinced. But after a hesitant bite of toast, and without the expected purge of his stomach, the Angel’s appetite flared and the food disappeared into the vacuum of his mouth. Dean laughed and set to cleaning his own plate.

After breakfast, Dean settled himself in Bobby’s library to do more research on Castiel’s condition. Castiel was stretched out on the couch with the laptop sitting on his thighs. Dean couldn’t see what he was doing on the computer, but he left the Angel to his own devices of discovery of the wondrous World Wide Web.

A half hour passed in relative silence, broken only by the occasional sniffle or cough, before Castiel stood from the couch and carried the laptop to the kitchen.

“Feeling hungry again?” Dean called. “I can make you a sandwich or something.”

“That won’t be necessary, Dean,” Castiel replied. “I’m fine.” Dean bent his head back to the text in front of him, but after a few minutes, he heard the thump of cabinet doors and the clinking of glass bowls.

“Are you sure you don’t need help with something?” Dean stood to follow the sounds to the kitchen, but was halted by the insistent voice of Castiel.

“No! Uh...You relax, I will be fine. Just uh...cleaning up a bit.” Dean was certain the Angel was lying, but he didn’t sound distressed or in pain, so he reluctantly returned to his seat behind Bobby’s desk.

“Just be careful,” Dean cautioned and chuckled lightly. “Let me know if you need help.”

“Of course, Dean.”

* * *

Dean woke sometime later to a pleasantly familiar scent. He breathed a curse as he rubbed his weary face. He’d never been the researcher of the family, and for good reason. Unable to keep his focus on something so tedious for more than an hour, the tiny monotonous text never failed to lull him to sleep.

Smacking his dry tongue from the roof of his mouth, the aroma that had woken him filled his senses: a tangy sweetness blended with the earthy spice of cinnamon.

Dean stood and followed his nose to the kitchen, his stomach growling with the sudden desire to _consume_. Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, he saw Castiel bent in front of the oven, pulling out a steaming mound of golden brown and buttery crust.

“Pie,” Dean sighed. He inhaled deeply and amended, “Apple pie.” Castiel turned at the sound and held out the pie plate with a smile.

“I believe it’s customary to say ‘surprise’ when presenting someone with a gift,” Castiel said with a proud, yet cautious smile as he set the hot pie plate on the counter. “Surprise!”

“Cas, how--” Dean’s euphoria at the sight and smell of his favorite treat quickly soured. “Wait, where did you get the apples?” He rushed to the fridge, ignoring Castiel’s frowning face, and pulled open the door. The apples were gone. “Did you use all of the apples in here?” Dean asked, irritation creeping into his voice.

“Yes. The recipe called for--”

“I needed those apples, Cas. _You_ needed them.” He huffed and slammed the refrigerator door shut.

“I do not understand,” Castiel said softly.

“The tea, Cas,” Dean snapped. “The apples were for your tea. Now I’ll have to go to the store. Again.” He reached a hand over his shoulder and scratched at his back in frustration.

“I’m sorry, Dean. It was not my intention to upset you.” Castiel removed the flour-covered apron he was wearing and made for the stairs.

“Wait,” Dean said with a sigh. Castiel stopped. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who should apologize.” Dean took the steps necessary to plant himself in front of Castiel’s sulking face. “I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just, I bought the apples for your tea, and it’s made you feel so much better. When I saw the apples were gone, I guess I panicked a little. I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” he answered with a hesitant smile. “I should have asked you first.”

“No, that’s not...You don’t have to ask me permission to do something. You didn’t know about the apples. It’s not your fault. And we can get more.” Dean flashed a warm grin to encourage Castiel out of his self-doubt. “What possessed you to bake a pie anyway?”

“You have been so kind in helping me through my... _predicament_. I simply wanted to thank you. I was fairly certain you had a fondness for pie.”

“Damn straight, I do.” Dean placed a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “How about we make a quick stop at the store, and we can have a slice when we get home?”

“I would like that, Dean,” Castiel answered with a genuine smile. “I would like that very much.”

* * *

The trip to the store had been as quick--and as awkward--as the last one. After bagging some apples and swinging by the frozen section for another pint of vanilla bean ice cream, Dean and Castiel approached the checkout.

Jenny was working again.

“Well, couldn’t stay away long, could ya?” Jenny, the pretty blonde checkout clerk, said with a sultry smirk. “I was wondering when I’d be lucky enough to see you again.”

Dean felt Castiel stiffen beside him. He grinned awkwardly as he attempted to delicately steer the conversation away from widespread mortification.

“Good to see you too…” Dean squinted at her name tag. “Jenny.” She bowed her back slightly so that her chest stuck out, but Dean’s eyes had already shifted back to hers. “Just these today.” Dean handed her the bag of apples and the ice cream.

“Fun night planned, huh?” Jenny cocked one eyebrow and shifted her gaze to Castiel for the first time since they walked up.

“Just staying in tonight,” Dean replied with a forced grin. “But we’re in a rush, if you wouldn’t mind--”

“Who’s your friend?” she asked, ignoring Dean’s attempt to usher her through the checkout process.

“I am Castiel,” he answered mechanically.

“Interesting name. What are your plans tonight, Castiel?” Jenny glanced briefly at Dean before setting her salacious eyes back on Castiel. “Any room for one more?”

“Room?” Castiel asked, a confused crease forming in his brow. Jenny giggled.

“Just scan the damn apples!” Dean snapped, and Jenny flinched, her bright smile downturned. “Please,” he amended more softly.

She narrowed her eyes at Dean, but kept quiet and scanned the apples and ice cream.

“Total is $6.95,” she muttered flatly. Then, under her breath, she added, “Jackass.”

“Thank you.” Dean handed her seven dollars and shoved the ice cream in the bag of apples. “Keep the change.” He turned for the door, ignoring her piercing glare, and reached for Castiel’s hand to pull alongside him.  

The short ride home was quiet, though Dean could see in his peripheral as Castiel opened and closed his mouth in an attempt at conversation.

“She was hitting on you,” Dean said in answer to Castiel’s unspoken question. “Well, technically _both_ of us.”

“Oh,” Castiel replied. “ _Oh_.” A blush creeped into his cheeks, and Castiel remained silent for the rest of the ride home.

When they were home, Dean placed the apples in the fridge and opened the pint of ice cream. “Time for pie?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course,” Castiel answered with a soft smile.

Retrieving a couple of plates from the cabinet, Dean dished out a large slice of pie and a scoop of ice cream for each of them. He sat down, gesturing for Castiel to join him, and licked his lips animatedly in anticipation.

Dean took the first bite of pie into his mouth.

“Mmph,” he grunted as his eyes crossed in pleasure at the sweet and buttery goodness. “So good.” His words sounded muffled behind the party in his mouth. “Heaven.”

“I’m glad you like it, Dean,” Castiel responded with the brightest of smiles.

“You’re a natural baker, Cas. Pie isn’t easy to make, and this pie is perfect. Mmph,” he grunted again. “Feel free to make one anytime.” Dean winked and shoveled an accompanying bite of ice cream into his mouth.

“Dean,” Castiel said hesitantly. “Is now a good time to talk about us?”

Dean coughed, spewing a few bits of apple mush back onto his plate, and pounded a fist on his chest. Castiel wasn’t known for his subtlety.

“Are you alright?” Castiel stood and reached for Dean’s shoulder, but Dean waved him away.

“Fine,” Dean croaked, and after swallowing and clearing his throat, he added, “Bit off more than I could chew, I guess.” A distinct shade of pink started to creep into his cheeks.

“Oh. Well, I was hoping to speak with you about what I have been feeling lately. What I think _you_ may be feeling.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked evasively. Afraid he would reveal everything with a single glance--the warmth, the affection, the desire--Dean kept his eyes glued to his plate.

“I think you know what I mean, Dean,” Castiel replied huskily and reached for Dean’s hand. At the touch of warmth, Dean jumped slightly and lifted his mossy green eyes to Castiel’s crystal blue ones. “Tell me what you feel.”

“I...I feel…” Dean had been reluctant to seize upon the emotions the Angel evoked from him, and he was determined to stay diligent to that effect. “I feel we have become very good friends.”

“Is that all?” The determination was quickly melting under the Angel’s gaze. Castiel laced his fingers with Dean’s and squeezed gently. “Do you not feel a certain stronger connection between us?”

Now was not the time to explore what could or couldn’t be, not when Castiel was still suffering from exuviation and the world was quite literally coming to an end. As much as it physically hurt to do so, Dean lied.

“No. You’re my best friend, Cas. But that’s all.” Dean’s eyes slanted back to his plate, the ice cream quickly melting and flooding the half-eaten triangle of sweet perfection. He pulled his hand from Castiel’s and stood to dump his plate in the sink.

“I see. I was mistaken then,” Castiel muttered, the fragility apparent in the quiver of his voice. “Pardon my misconceptions.” The scrape of the chair across the floor as the Angel stood and walked toward the stairs was equivalent to a knife plunging into Dean’s chest.

“Cas,” Dean said, his voice rough with raw emotion. Castiel halted and turned, revealing the disappointment in his now-darkened eyes. Dean hesitated, poised precariously on the edge of a steep cliff, and then he jumped.

He crossed the kitchen in two long strides and pressed his lips, sweet with caramelized apple sugar, against Castiel’s in a feverish kiss. Dean’s hands cupped the Angel’s face gently, his fingers brushing the fringe of his dark hair. Though stunned into immobility, Castiel quickly recovered, wrapped his arms around Dean’s back, and molded his lips with his.

“What…?” Castiel gasped when Dean finally pulled away for breath.

“I lied,” he answered with a grin. Dean pressed his forehead to Castiel’s and breathed a sigh of relief. “You are more to me than just a friend, Cas. You’ll always be more.”

“Why lie?” Castiel asked as he tugged Dean closer, pressing the lines of their bodies together.

“You’ve been sick with something neither of us fully understand. You’ve been through a lot, Cas, and I didn’t want to complicate things any more than they already were. I tried to keep my distance, to give you space, but…” Dean groaned low in his throat as he tangled his lips with Castiel’s once more.

“I don’t know what else is in store for me with this exuviation, and I have no idea how long it will last. But I do know that I could not have made it this far without you, Dean. I need you by my side.” Castiel reached one hand up to squeeze Dean’s affectionately.

“Nowhere I’d rather be.” Dean leaned forward and captured Castiel’s lips with his own, tracing his tongue exploratively along the Angel’s bottom lip. Castiel parted his lips in answer to the silent question, and Dean breathed him in as he plundered his mouth with the point of his curious tongue.

Castiel moaned softly and deepened the kiss, the two tongues battling for dominance in a duel where there were no losers. They were both aware, and both yet hesitant to acknowledge, the apparent arousals that grew rapidly between their pressed bodies.

Castiel’s hands trailed up Dean’s back and brushed against his shoulder blades. Dean was distantly aware of a mild irritation beneath his shirt, but nothing could pull him away from the soft sweetness of the Angel’s lips.

So, it was Castiel that pulled away with a look of alarm paling his features.

“Dean.” His eyes were wide as he stepped around to Dean’s back. He traced his fingers lightly near the shoulder blades, and Dean could feel the irritation flair up again.

“What is it?” Dean asked, panicked. He reached his own hand over his shoulder and sought the source of the irritation. He could feel a raised ridge of skin that had never been there before, along the angle of his shoulder blade. He felt a slight stickiness seep through his cotton shirt and he pulled away his fingers to find them dabbed with fresh blood. “What the hell?”

Castiel slipped his fingers beneath the shirt and began to pull it up. Even panicked as he was, Dean found it hard to ignore the pleasant shiver he felt at the Angel’s warm fingers on his skin. Dean pulled his shirt the rest of the way over his head, discovering a similar irritation along his other shoulder blade, and heard Castiel gasp behind him.

“Dammit, Cas! What is it?”

“If I didn’t know any better, Dean,” Castiel said as evenly as he could manage. “I would say you are sprouting a pair of your very own wings.”


	7. Home

**Chapter 7: Home**

Dean paled. “Wings?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“How did this happen?” Dean asked. “Is this a byproduct of being too close to you during your exuviation? Or whatever the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Have you done anything differently?” 

Dean began shaking his head in the negative, but then he caught sight of the bouquet of red flowers on the table. “Fuck. The tea.”

“My miracle tea?” Castiel asked, clearly confused.

“Yeah,” Dean said as his eyes slanted to the floor. “I’ve been drinking it too.”

“Okay,” Castiel said softly. “Why would that be a problem?”

“Ask Gabe,” Dean whispered with a wince. 

Castiel looked at Dean. He narrowed his eyes, and asked, “What do you mean?”

Dean sighed in defeat. “Just call him.”

Dean watched as Castiel’s blue eyes turned stormy. Castiel turned away, looked toward the ceiling in the living room and bellowed, “Gabriel, get your ass down here! _NOW_!”

A split second and a woosh later, Gabriel stood in the center of the living room, unwrapping a blow pop. “What’s up, bro? You’re lookin’ good. How are your wings?”

“That isn’t any of your concern,” Castiel said primly. “What did you do to Dean?”

Dean reached for Castiel with a shaking hand, but the Angel stalked out of reach toward Gabriel. Castiel put his hands on his hips and leveled a death glare at his brother. “Well?”

“What the fuck is going on?” Dean demanded forcefully as he stepped between the brothers and turned toward his Angel, granting Gabriel a view of his full back.

Gabriel busted up laughing, dropping his candy onto the floor. “I didn’t know it would do that!” He looked down forlornly at his sucker but didn't suppress his laughter. 

“Yes, brother, Dean is growing wings,” Castiel seethed through gritted teeth. 

Gabriel continued laughing maniacally, so Castiel moved furiously toward his brother. 

“Cassie, please,” Gabriel pleaded through a hiccough of a giggle. “I thought it would just heal his scars, add years to his lifespan. Not this! I was trying to reward him!” Gabriel sobered and raised his hands defensively. 

“Your scars are healing completely,” Castiel observed as he turned to Dean. “Except for the, well--” He motioned to Dean’s graceburn handprint, but then turned back to Gabriel. “ _You_ , get the fuck out of here if you can’t be helpful.”

“Whoa, is that--” Gabriel started, eyes large, but after seeing the murderous expression on his brother’s face, he zapped out without another word. 

Dean sunk down on the couch and looked at Castiel. “I’m healing. That isn’t a bad thing, right?”

“No, Dean. However, you may not feel the same about the other side effect.”

“The wings.” Dean stood and rushed down the hall and into the bathroom. He turned to examine his back in the mirror. The newly-formed ridges along his shoulder blades were an angry red which didn’t bode well for the near future. 

“Yes. I know how you feel about flying,” Castiel said as he followed Dean into the bathroom and placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’ll help you through this. But, why for the love of all that is holy, did you listen to Gabriel?”

Dean opened his mouth to form an answer, but floundered. There was no easy answer. He’d called Gabriel because he was desperate to help the man--the Angel--he cared for very deeply. And while they had succumbed to each other’s feelings only moments ago, Dean didn’t yet know what that meant for their friendship. Hell, he still wasn’t sure if what he was feeling was natural, or a side effect of Castiel’s exuviation. The special tea had shown to have an effect--and a very strong one at that--on Dean’s own body as well as Castiel’s. 

Dean’s head spun with thoughts and feelings that tangled in a confusing knot, but when he looked into the mirror, into the blue eyes staring back at him from over his shoulder, he knew that what he was feeling _had_ to be real. 

Castiel leaned over and pecked Dean on the lips which centered him. “This is quite miraculous, Dean. But, why did you call Gabriel?” he repeated softer.

Dean pulled Castiel into his arms. “You were sick, goddamn it, I was worried! So, I prayed for help. Luckily, Gabe came because in hindsight, that was a _really_ bad idea. He gave me the tea remedy.” Dean attempted a smirk. “And it worked, by the way. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said seriously. 

“Gabe suggested I drink the tea so I wouldn’t develop any adverse effects from being around you. That was the last thing I wanted...” Dean’s voice trailed off unwilling to finish that thought.

“That evil bastard,” Castiel growled, and then his eyes softened. “You are growing wings. It will not be pleasant, but I will aid you as they grow in.”

“I knew Gabe had some sort of motive, he always does,” Dean whispered meaningfully. “I didn’t have to drink the kool-aid, but fuck man. You mean a fuck ton to me and I would’ve done anything, even call for Gabriel’s help, to get you feeling better.”

“Dean--” Castiel began and Dean registered the guilt forming in his blue eyes.

“None of that,” Dean interrupted. “This is on me.”

Castiel shook his head and smiled softly. “I defied Heaven for you, Dean. Multiple times,” he whispered. “That should tell you how much you mean to me. You won't be alone through this ordeal. I swear it.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said with a grin. “How long do you think it’ll be before they come out?”

Castiel came around to examine Dean’s back and brushed his fingers over the angry marks. “This is quite unprecedented.”

“Everything we do lately is _unprecedented_. Gotta roll with the punches. Do I have time to take Sam some books? He sent me a list earlier.” Dean reached over his shoulder and scratched at the irritated skin.

Castiel felt around on Dean’s back. “Oh yes. Interestingly, they are developing in a vesicle, stretching the skin which is what is causing you to itch, I believe. From what I can tell, they are still quite small, so I’m sure you do.” He prodded around on Dean’s back some more, and the contact caused Dean to moan as Castiel’s fingers soothed the nagging and irritated skin. “Ah-ha! There it is. The alula on the left one is still quite underdeveloped,” he explained as he stepped back and pulled his own sweater off. A split second later his wings appeared. He pointed to the tip of his wing joint. “That’s this part.”

“So, am I going to become a hunchback then?”

“Perhaps for a bit,” Castiel answered with a grin, but he sobered quickly. “However, I believe you are in for excruciating pain soon. Your skeleton is going to have to adjust to your new appendages. Create support for them, and so on.”

“I can deal.” Dean nodded and he took in Castiel’s half-naked form. He barely heard Castiel’s warning of pain, as his mouth went dry at the sight of the other man’s bare chest. Dean then shook his head and forced his glance toward Castiel’s wings. “Your wings are nearly bare now,” he observed offhandedly as he stepped into Castiel’s space and ran his fingers down the long exposed bone.

“Indeed,” Castiel purred as he leaned into the contact. 

Dean pressed his chest against his and stuck his nose into the Angel’s neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent. Dean’s mouth watered when the sweet aroma of almond cookies and tart cherries filled his nose. “You smell delicious,” Dean groaned. “I’ve never noticed before.”

“My wing’s secretions have increased now that most of my feathers have dropped, to aid in the regrowth and maintenance of new ones,” Castiel explained mechanically, nearly neutralizing the heat that had formed between them. But then Castiel leaned in and breathed deeply through his nose. “Your scent is the same. When you start secreting externally, it could change.”

Dean shivered in response to Castiel’s husky voice. From where their bodies touched, a tingling sensation spread, chasing a warmth that grew steadily between his legs. Dean groaned deep in his throat and wanted nothing more than to pull Castiel harder against him, to claim his mouth; but now was not the time.

“Huh,” Dean muttered lamely, and cleared his throat. He forced himself to step back, turned away to hide the evidence of his pulsing desire. “Do you want to ride with me to take Sam those books?” he asked tentatively, hoping he would say no. He wasn’t confident in his ability to keep his hands off of Castiel in his current state.

“That’s alright, Dean,” Castiel said, and Dean could hear the sly smile in his voice. “I know you want to discuss this whole situation with your brother. You value his opinion.”

With his uncomfortable situation gradually coming back under his control, Dean managed to look sheepish. “Can’t get anything past you, Castiel,” he whispered huskily. 

At the mention of Castiel’s full name, Dean noticed his pupils dilate with arousal. “Dean--”

“Later, Cas,” he interjected as he pressed his mouth against his Angel’s. Castiel moaned and leaned into the kiss. 

After a few dizzying moments, Castiel stepped away. “I’ll make dinner while you are away. Do you want to take Sam a slice of pie? Perhaps you could take the rest and share it with him as you discuss your concerns.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“Of course, Dean. He is your brother. You love him as he loves you. And I am confident you will talk to me when you have thought this through.” 

After changing his shirt and gathering the books for Sam, Dean entered the kitchen, where he found Castiel with his wings hidden away and the ugly brown cardigan back in place. The flour bin was already out, and Dean wondered, with an anticipatory growl of his stomach, what Castiel would create while he was gone. 

“I shouldn’t be too long. Call if you need anything.” Dean pecked the other man’s lips, and gazed meaningfully into his eyes. “I mean that. Anything.”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel replied and returned the kiss. “See you soon.” 

Dean snagged the pie plate on the way out the door and secured it snugly next to the books on the passenger side floorboard of the Impala before he slid into the driver side. Luckily, the bench seat was low enough, that it didn’t irritate the raw ridges on his back as he drove. 

Sam’s motel wasn’t far, so Dean didn’t have much time to think about the weird shit that was happening to him On the bright side, he was at least in familiar territory. He lived in the land of weird shit. However, it’s what happens after the weird shit ends that he worried him.

Dean parked the Impala in front of Sam’s room and stepped out, retrieving the books and the pie. 

“Sam, it’s me!” he hollered as he pounded unceremoniously on the door.

“One second,” Sam yelled from the other side. The door swung open and Dean stepped through with no invitation. “I was taking a nap. I thought you’d text or something before you came,” Sam grumbled.

“Sorry to disturb your beauty rest,” Dean spat as he scratched at his back. “Here are the books you asked for.” He dropped them on the table and turned to leave.

“Grouchy much, jerk? My days and nights are switched because I keep staying up late researching everything! Cut me some slack.”

“Sorry. 'Strange shit is afoot at the Circle K',” Dean muttered. “I brought pie. Apple. Want some?”

“Sure,” Sam said with a tired smile. “That looks homemade.”

“Cas made it. He’s freakishly good at baking.”

“Match made in Heaven then, because you’re freakishly good at eating,” Sam teased with a laugh. 

“Yeah, that's the truth,” Dean said as he rubbed at a growing buzz in his temples. He wondered if Sam’s tainted blood was beginning to irritate his senses now too. For the moment, at least, he was able to ignore it and focus on Sam as he dug into the apple pie. 

As soon as his lips closed around the fork, Sam’s eyes widened in surprise. “Damn. If he wasn’t an Angel of the Lord, he’d make a killing selling these pies.”

Dean nodded and shoveled pie into his mouth. “It’s damn good, right? First try too,” he said proudly.

“He certainly has a gift,” Sam chuckled. “What else is going on with you?”

“Gabe tricked me,” Dean replied bitterly.

Sam leaned back, and crossed his arms. “What are you doing getting Gabriel mixed up in everything?”

“It was kind of an accident,” Dean said and Sam shot him a bitchface that told Dean that he didn’t believe a word of that. So, Dean threw up his hands and proclaimed, “You didn’t see him, Sam. After you left, Cas just got worse. I didn’t know what else to do but pray for help. I guess it was luck to have Gabe show up rather than, say Bartholomew or Inias.”

“Silver lining,” Sam snickered darkly around a mouthful of pie. 

“Yeah.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “So, are you going to tell me how Gabriel tricked you, or are you going to make me guess?”

“He gave me a recipe for a tea, which did help. You should see him. You can hardly tell he was sick. But fuck it all, it came with side effects for me too. Now, you can’t freak out on me,” Dean warned.

“Why were you drinking it too?”

“Gabe said the tea would help me stay close to Cas in order to help him. I wasn’t willing to chance any second-hand effects of the exuviation, so I drank the tea too. It’s pretty good actually,” he added in hopes of playing on Sam’s health food kick.

Sam rolled his eyes. “What did it do?”

“Well, it is healing my body,” Dean said. 

“That’s not a bad thing,” Sam interrupted. “You do look younger.”

Dean grinned, appreciative of the complement. “That’s not all.”

Dean stood up and removed his shirt. 

“Dude, not what I wanted to see. I’m eating,” Sam grumbled as he snagged the last of the pie and ate it right out of the pie plate. 

“Shut up, bitch. Look,” Dean said and then continued. “All my scars are gone, besides this.” He gestured to the raised handprint on his shoulder. Before Sam could ask, he clarified, “Yeah, that’s graceburn from when Cas rescued my soul from Hell and put me back together. Look at this though.” Dean turned around to show his brother the other side effect. Dean huffed and his shoulders slumped when he heard Sam’s gasp. “Yeah.”

“Dean--” Sam started, but Dean interrupted before he could say anything more.

“Yeah. I’m turning into a supernatural winged creature. Something we would hunt. My guess is gargoyle,” Dean mused facetiously.

Dean pulled his shirt back on and returned to his seat across from his brother. Dean could see the wheels turning in his head. 

“What does Castiel say?” Sam asked,ignoring his brother’s self deprecating joke. 

“That he’ll help me through this. Fuck. Gabriel thought it was some sort of reward. Can you believe it?”

“Dean,” Sam looked down at the empty pie pan and began softly. “It is.”

“What do you mean?” he asked incredulously.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Dean. Look at it from anyone else’s perspective but your narrow-minded own. Everything is not so black or white! I am a supernatural creature. Castiel is too. You’re saying you would hunt us?” Dean opened his mouth to declare the opposite, but he stopped when Sam’s voice began to rise. “What the fuck, Dean? What the actual fuck! Us Winchesters are always getting fucked with. You’re getting wings, which is pretty badass compared to the alternative! I have motherfucking demon blood inside of me, something I have to fight constantly against. Let’s not even discuss how I was exploited because of it. You--” he stopped and took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. When he started again, his tone was much calmer, yet no less dangerous. “You get wings and a prolonged lifespan, if you’re not downright immortal. But, more than that, you get Castiel: a badass Angel of the fucking Lord who fucking _adores_ you!”

Dean jumped when Sam’s fist crashed down on the table. It was then that he noticed the tears in his brother’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry--” Dean began.

“No,” Sam took a deep ragged breath. “I’m sorry. Dean, I have to say, I’m relieved that I can’t stay at Bobby’s. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so happy for you. You deserve this happiness. But, I’m also insanely jealous. I don’t know how to explain it other than I want what you seem to be fighting against.”

“I’m not fighting against it anymore. Cas and I, well _we’re_ , you know, in ‘ _love_ ’ or whatever. And I’m going to hold on to that for as long as I can, until he decides that I am too much trouble, or he realizes I’m not worth it and returns to Heaven…” Dean’s voice trailed off.

“Oh, Dean,” Sam sighed. “That will never happen. You guys need to talk.”

“All we seem to do is talk! Sorry about,” Dean said as he waved his hand between himself and his brother. “We okay?”

“We will be. Just give me some time.”

Dean nodded and the brothers sat in silence for a moment. 

“There’s someone out there for you. Gabe was asking about you…” Dean laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “There’s a weird girl at the grocery store who hit on Cas. I could set you up.”

“Shut up, Dean. Eat your pie. Your _homemade_ pie.” Sam rolled his eyes. 

“He’s making dinner too. As we speak.”

“Fuck you.”

Dean just laughed and reached behind him to scratch at his back. “Fuckers itch like crazy right now.”

Sam laughed. “Now that makes me feel better!” 

“Shut up, bitch. Cas thinks it’s going to get painful. I don’t have grace to compensate for the pain, and his grace is still locked up because of his exuviation, so…”

“Oh Dean, if you need help…” Sam’s voice trailed off not needing to finish his sentence of support.

“Thanks,” Dean replied with a weak smile. “Probably best if you stay away for a while still.”

Sam nodded in understanding. 

Dean gave Sam the tea recipe and a list of Castiel’s exuviation symptoms for research purposes and said his goodbyes so he could return to his Angel. 

Dean found Castiel sitting on the back stoop, head in his hands. He looked like as if someone had kicked his puppy. 

“Dean,” Castiel began in a cracked, defeated voice. 

“What’s wrong? Everything okay?” Dean asked trying not to panic. “Whatever it is, we will deal with it together.” He sat down next to him and put his arm around Castiel in what he hoped was a comforting manner. 

“Dean, I burned dinner. I'm so sorry!” Castiel looked to be on the verge of tears. 

“Oh, babe, everyone burns dinner sometimes.” He chuckled, relieved that Castiel wasn’t hurt. “Let's see if anything is salvageable. Or would you rather we went and got something?”

Castiel perked up at this. “Like a date?” he asked. 

“Yeah, like a date.” Dean said with a warm smile. 

“I was trying to research on the internet how to have a relationship,” Castiel explained after a quiet moment. “I want us to be successful, Dean. When I typed in ‘homosexual relationship,’ I found mostly sex videos, which were educational in their own right--”

“Wait--you found gay porn? And you watched it?” Dean was having a hard time suppressing his laughter. 

“Yes, Dean. I want to please you, and you have so much more worldly experience,” Castiel replied, words blunt and obviously annoyed. 

“Oh, sweetheart, I doubt we’re going to have any trouble in that department,” Dean soothed as he pulled Castiel closer and changed the subject. “But, we don’t need to rush it.”

“I just want to make sure you’re happy. You like sex,” Castiel said. 

“And you will like sex too.”

Castiel nodded, uncertain expression on his face. 

“How about we fix some sandwiches and sit out here and talk?” Dean asked. 

“And coffee?” Castiel asked, perking up.

“Of course, coffee,” Dean said with a chuckle. 

It only took a few minutes to gather the food for their impromptu picnic on the porch step, and after they ate, Dean leaned back on his elbows to look up at the stars. Castiel mimicked his posture and smiled.

Dean looked over at the man gazing up at the heavens and he felt the bloom of something in his chest when he observed the look of contentment on Castiel’s face. “Happy?” he asked softly. 

“Immensely.” Castiel turned his head to look at Dean with bright eyes and a wide smile. Dean’s breath caught in his chest at the sight.

“Good. Me too. What did you try to make for dinner anyway?”

“I attempted to fry chicken. I believe my oil was too hot. I would like to try again.”

“We’ll get you a thermometer.” Dean laughed. “Just so you know, I would have eaten it regardless. But this is nice.”

“It is.” Castiel’s lips tugged into a more hesitant smile. “There is something I would like to discuss with you.”

“Okay, shoot.” Dean took a sip of his coffee. 

“After my exuviation, and you get used to your wings, what do you see happening?”

“Well, we’ll try to fix the apocalypse, I suppose.”

“Naturally. However, what do you see happening after that, between us?”

Dean felt his heart rise in his throat and swallowed a gulp of his drink hard to push it back down. He hadn’t expected to have to talk about the future so soon. He wasn’t ready to feel the sting of rejection that he was sure was coming. 

“As much as I want to have a house and all that domestic junk, I'm a hunter,” he answered, trying to steer the topic away from more personal matters. “I'll continue to do that. My purpose is saving people from the bad guys.”

“We could do that together,” Castiel hedged. 

“Did Sam call you?” Dean asked with narrowed eyes.

“He may have sent a text message,” Castiel laughed. “However, this was already on my mind. You’ve helped me through my exuviation, I will help you with yours. I am roughly twenty thousand years old, and am just now exuviating. So you have a long time.”

Dean’s eyes widened at the prospect of immortality. “Are you saying that I’m going to live that long?”

“Perhaps. I suspect your lifespan will be very long, if you die at all. As I stated before, we are in unprecedented territory, and that isn’t only for you, Dean.”

“Well, I’ll be here for however long you want me,” Dean declared fervently, his heart beating frantically in his chest.

“I will always want you, Dean.”

“Forever is a long time,” Dean chuckled humorlessly. “You might wake up one day and decide I’m not worth it.” Dean looked down and stared intently as he traced the rim of his mug with his middle finger.

“Dean, look at me,” Castiel ordered. 

Dean’s mossy green eyes met Castiel’s stormy blue ones. “I am going to say this once, Dean. I am going to want you until the end of time, and there will never be anyone else but you. Even if my siblings win and the apocalypse happens, I _will_ go up in flames with you rather than seek safety in Heaven. There may be times when I need to leave you for a period of time, but I _will _always come back to you.”__

“Right,” Dean muttered, unconvinced. “What happens when you become an Angel drone again?”

“I will not forget my love for you, Dean. It would be impossible! Our situation is unique. We already had a profound bond before, but now it is compounded and so much deeper. I will retain my emotions, because I have experienced them so passionately that I would be unable to forget. Just as you will not be able to rid yourself of your wings, I will not lose my love for you!”

“So, I’ll give it to you straight then,” Dean started and took a deep, shaky breath. “Ultimately, Cas, when the time comes I want you to choose me over Heaven. I know it's selfish, but there it is.”

“That is no choice, Dean,” Castiel replied with a soft smile. “It will always be you.”

“I know it’s your home,” Dean started again but Castiel silenced him with a press of his lips. 

Dean leaned into the kiss as Castiel pulled him closer. Their tongues danced as he deepened the kiss, and much too quickly, Castiel pulled away to whisper something in Dean’s ear.

“Dean,” he murmured, voice raspy and raw with need and want. “ _You_ are my home.”

Dean stilled as those words sunk in. “Fuck, Cas,” he whispered and pretended he didn’t feel the prickle of tears forming in his eyes. 

“Is your self-worth so low that you don’t believe me?” Castiel asked as he looked into Dean’s eyes. “Do you think I am free of worry when it comes to you?”

Dean looked at Castiel in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“I know you don't ‘do’ relationships, Dean. And certainly not with a man,” Castiel stated. “But I'm willing to have faith in you and your words. Why can't you do the same?”

Dean scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand to wipe away the nagging tears. “Castiel--

“No, Dean. Do you honestly think you’re undeserving of love?” Castiel asked incredulous. 

Dean began shaking, unable to answer, scared of what Castiel would think. He did love. He loved Sam, he loved Bobby, Ellen, and even Jo. But nothing came close to how he loved Castiel. It was an all consuming fire that radiated from his very soul. He knew this. It was simple, easy as breathing for him. Love, he could do. But he never learned how to be loved, and feel like he deserved it. “I don’t know how.”

“Just accept my love, Dean. Trust me, and trust in my love,” Castiel said as he took Dean into his arms again. “You love so fiercely. It is in your every action. You need to be loved just as much. Let me. Please.”

Dean nodded, and shivered when Castiel rubbed his thumbs under his eyes to dry the fallen tears. Castiel drew him into his arms and just simply held him close. 

As he peered up at the multitude of stars in the arms of the man he loved, Dean felt his world come into alignment. And amongst all the weird shit of late, he couldn't think of a more perfect moment.


	8. Addictive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW!

**Chapter 8: Addictive**

The following days were arguably the roughest of Dean’s short life thus far. The sheer disbelief of what was happening to him took a backseat to the blinding pain he felt around the clock.

The bones in his back shifted like a puzzle trying to solve itself. The pieces moved, clicking audibly as they turned, unable to find the right fit. The sickening sound was a cross between a cue ball breaking a triangle of solids and stripes and a massive tree trunk ripping in half.

The ridges that signified the first sign of his transformation had ballooned out into fluid-filled vesicles, presumably to offer space for his wings to form. The bulbous sacs were each roughly the size of a football and incredibly sensitive. The slightest pressure made the area pulse with a deep soreness, and so Dean could not wear a shirt or even lay on his back.

During the rare moments when the bones stilled, Dean was met with the resonating pain of his neighboring organs, bruised by the abuse of moving pieces. At times, he could hardly breathe, feeling a sharp pain in his chest each time he gasped for air.

As much as he tried not to, Dean wept. Castiel was always at his side to offer his hand in Dean’s vice grip, to offer whispered words of encouragement, and to press the tear-stained face into his chest to hide him from the world. These moments helped to comfort Dean, helped him to combat the mounting fear inside him. These moments did not, however, dull the pain.

No amount of ibuprofen worked. The feather tea was the only thing that offered any form of pain relief, but the reprieve was fleeting. With each cup, Dean drifted limbless into a blissful oblivion. The pains in his body dulled, and his mind filled with nothing as it floated away, like a helium balloon. Dean assumed he slept during this time, though he couldn’t remember enough to be certain. The effects only lasted a couple of hours, according to Castiel, and the pain would return full force.

Dean practically begged for another cup each time the arduous ministrations in his back began again, but Castiel denied him.

“You should not have more than two cups a day,” Castiel explained.

“Why the hell not?” Dean growled in return.

“Aside from the fact that it seems to have addictive qualities, we only have a limited supply of ingredients.”

 _Definitely addictive_ , Dean agreed mentally. The pain was always worse right after the tea wore off, and was later followed by an episode of tremors. But Dean couldn’t care less about that. All that mattered was the few moments he could be free of agony.

“Then go to the store for more apples,” Dean grunted through chattering teeth.

“It’s the flowers, Dean. We only have a few left and they have already begun to wilt.”

Dean could hear the concern in Castiel’s voice. Instead of pressing the issue further, he gave a short nod and prepared himself for the sea of torment that lay ahead of him until the next cup of tea.

“Being that the supply of petals is dwindling, I will dry them out and grind them into a powder,” Castiel suggested. “Hopefully, it will help preserve the potency as well as stretch out the supply.”

The first cup of tea using the powdered petals proved both assumptions abundantly true. Dean felt relief in an instant, but his body quickly went numb from head to toe. He lost consciousness and awoke sometime later to a rather frantic Angel shaking him by the shoulders.

“Dean? Dean! Come on, Dean, wake up!”

Dean’s brain rattled within his skull, the pulsing headache becoming worse with each jolt. A chill rippled beneath his skin, which seemed to be coated in a thin sheen of sweat. The ache in his back was slowly coming into focus, and Dean groaned as he tried to push himself up from the bed.

“Oh thank God, Dean!” Castiel held Dean’s face between his hands and smooshed a kiss in the middle of his forehead. “You came back to me,” he sighed, clearly elated.

“Came back?” Dean asked as he sat up and realized with a ragged cough that his throat was impossibly dry. Castiel reached for the side table and retrieved a glass of water, which Dean accepted eagerly. He welcomed the coolness that spread through his chest as it seemed to momentarily distract from the grind of the bones in his back.

“You’ve been asleep for nearly twelve hours, Dean. I thought I’d lost you. I thought I had--”

Dean took Castiel’s trembling hand and brought it to his lips.

“I’m still here,” Dean said wearily and kissed the palm of his Angel’s hand. Dean breathed a laugh and winced at the sharp pain that stabbed through his chest to his back. Castiel went on to explain that he was unsure of how much powder actually equated to the required number of petals and stamen, and had inadvertently used too much.  

“Twelve hours, huh? About time for more tea then.” It seemed reasonable.

“No,” Castiel stated firmly, and pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned. “No more tea. Not for today, at least.”

“Cas, please.” He’d been awake two minutes, and he was already begging. “I’m fine.”

“You nearly died! I’ve been trying to wake you for the past half hour. I thought you were just sleeping at first, and let you get as much rest as you could. I figured that if you could sleep through the pain, your transformation would be that much easier when you woke. But--” Castiel paused and looked away before lowering his voice. “When your heart rate slowed, and your breathing was nearly imperceptible, I did everything I could think to pull you away from death.”

“You have a talent for savin’ me.” Dean tried a laugh, but his voice came out more like a wheeze. “Just use less of the powder next time. But Cas, I have to have it. Fuck all, it’s the only thing that works.”

Castiel sighed and nodded solemnly. “Tomorrow,” he promised.

Dean found that he didn’t have the energy to argue anymore and closed his eyes. He felt Castiel slide into the bed next to him, and he laid down on his stomach to rest his head against the Angel’s chest. Castiel reached his arm around Dean and touched his fingers gingerly to the bulging vesicles. When Dean winced slightly, he moved his hand to rest on his shoulder.

“You’re wings should emerge soon,” Castiel observed softly, his voice reverberating through his chest to Dean’s ear.

Dean simply hummed sleepily in response.

Dean was surprised to find that he was able to sleep another couple of hours, despite the sun streaming through the windows. While he still longed for the relief the tea could bring him, the pain in his back had begun to lessen. Dean couldn’t be sure if the pain was actually nearing an end, or if he simply had become accustomed enough to it that he could tune it out.

“Your brother came by while you were...while you slept earlier,” Castiel said carefully and pointed to a journal that was sitting on the side table. “He dropped off some notes on his research. I haven’t had a chance to look at them.”

“He came here? Did he get sick like before?”

Shaking his head, Castiel answered, “The barrier of the door was between us, and he didn’t come in, but he asked how you were doing. I told him you were resting.”

“How was he?” At the confused tilt of Castiel’s head, Dean clarified, “How did he look? Tired, injured?”

“He was...adequate,” Castiel said solemnly. “He did not appear to be injured, but he was clearly exhausted.”

“Little brother, burning the firecracker at both ends,” Dean chided affectionately. Castiel chuckled in agreement.

“Do you think you are well enough to eat, Dean?”

Dean rarely had an appetite anymore, but he nodded in hopes of seeing a glimpse of a smile on Castiel’s face. He wasn’t disappointed and Dean grinned as he reached toward the side table for Sam’s journal as Castiel left the room.

Sam’s notes were in remarkably good order, as always, but at the first glance at his detailed description of the feather tea, Dean’s head started pounding. He flipped through a few pages, content to look at that information later, and found a section containing Sam’s progress with the apocalypse. It seemed they needed the rings of the Four Horsemen to shut Lucifer in his cell again. He had two rings already, which couldn’t have been easy to get. _No wonder he’s exhausted_. Dean felt a pang of guilt that he wasn’t by his side, helping him, and wondered how his brother could possibly do this alone.

Castiel returned about fifteen minutes later with a bowl of piping hot Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup.

“I found the can in the pantry. I read on the Internet that it is used as a remedy for illness. I found it odd that such an elixir would be so readily available in a can,” he said as he handed Dean the bowl, careful not to spill the steaming liquid.

Dean laughed as he set Sam’s notes aside and was pleased to find the absence of the usual sharp pain he felt in his chest. After the first slurps of soup, Dean’s hunger kicked in and he finished the bowl as quickly as the hot temperature of the _elixir_ would allow.

“I feel much better, Cas. Thank--”

Dean hunched over with a shout, letting the empty bowl fall and crack against the floor.

“Dean!” Castiel was at his side in an instant and pressed his hands to the man’s shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“My back,” he said through gritted teeth. It was, without a doubt, the pinnacle of pain Dean had felt so far. He couldn’t believe the pain could be so much worse, especially after it seemed to be getting better, but it was. In addition to the usual shift of his bones, it felt as if his skin was splitting open. It occurred to him suddenly that the sensation was likely the reality.

“I think…” Dean took as deep a breath as his compressed lungs would allow. “The motherfuckers are comin’ right now!”

“They’re trying to,” Castiel said calmly as he examined Dean’s back. “I can see the tips of the alula pushing against the skin of the vesicles.”

Dean tried to hold back a roar of pain, but it rumbled out of his throat.

“They will break through on their own soon, but…” Castiel’s voice trailed off.

“But what?” he growled through gritted teeth.

“I could hasten the process by cutting through the vesicles. The pain would be no less intense, but it would be over quicker.”

“Do it.”

“Are you sure, Dean? It could hurt worse for a moment--”

“Fuck, Cas! Get on with it!”

Castiel nodded once and pushed off the bed to retrieve Dean’s switchblade from the top of the dresser across the room.

“I’m sorry in advance, Dean,” Castiel offered softly as he flicked out the blade and leaned over Dean’s right shoulder. He cut the left side first.

Dean braced himself for the pain, but hardly felt the tip of the blade slit his skin before the wing sprung from the sac that had held it for days. Castiel quickly followed with the right side, dodging out of the way, and the second wing sprung with just as much force, knocking the lamp on the side table to the floor with a crash.

Dean could feel a warm thickness oozing down his skin, as his wings folded against his back, and he turned his head to look at the man behind him. He saw bright red splattered across the walls on either side of him and attempted to look up at Castiel. However, the sudden movement left Dean feeling woozy, and he collapsed forward into darkness.

* * *

Dean floated into consciousness sometime later, but before he could open his eyes he could tell he had been moved. He felt someone run their fingers through his hair.

“Cas?” he asked.

“Dean,” Castiel breathed, relief evident in his voice.

Dean shook his head in an attempt to clear it and whispered, “What happened?”

“I helped your wings to come through, and you passed out. How are you feeling? Any pain?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders to test his pain level. He was surprised to find that he had no pain. “I’m fine,” he answered and cleared his throat to alleviate the dry roughness. “I sound like you,” he said as he attempted a joke. “Why am I in the bathtub?”

“Well, after you passed out, I caught you and attempted to clean up the wing openings to prevent infection and rid you of the excess secretions. However, the secretions had a cauterizing effect and you healed almost immediately. How do the wings feel?”

Dean focused on his back. Beyond a bit of heaviness, he didn’t feel much different. His wings were tightly folded against his back and there was a layer of stickiness under them that Castiel hadn’t been able to clean.

“Like they’ve always been there,” he answered. Dean took a moment to look at Castiel. He was kneeling next to the bathtub and had a spray of blood across his t-shirt, the trail ending on his cheek. He glanced back at the bathtub, and an idea formed. Dean took a minute to work out the logistics. If his wings stayed folded up, and if he held Castiel closely enough, it would be a tight fit, but they could make it work. “You want to help me up and get in here with me?”

A sudden shyness crept across Castiel’s face. “Dean--”

Dean interrupted him. “You’ve already seen me naked, remember? You busted in on my shower a while back. Come on, Cas. It’s no big deal.”

“It is a very big deal,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t _myself_ then.”

“Well, I don’t think I can shower alone. And my back feels fucking gross,” Dean grimaced. “Plus, you put me in the bathtub in my sweats. Come on.”

Dean braced himself on the sides of the bathtub, began to push himself up, and watched through hooded eyelids as Castiel stood with him. The stability of his legs surprised him, and he realized he could absolutely shower alone. Seeing the apprehension in Castiel’s eyes, he faked a stumble and smiled when Castiel caught him around the shoulders. _Bingo!_ he thought.

“Dean--” Castiel cried out.

“You have my blood on your face,” Dean said. He grinned and pulled the other man toward him. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

Dean pushed his wet sweatpants off his legs and followed with his soggy boxers. Now naked, he turned to start the water, and looked over at the other man. Castiel still had not moved since catching him before, so he faked another stumble. That propelled Castiel into motion, and the man whipped his shirt off and unbuttoned his jeans. He stepped into the shower behind Dean and curled an arm around his midsection to support him.

“Your wings are going to be beautiful, Dean,” Castiel whispered. “They are very symmetrical.”

Dean shrugged, turned his head to look at them, and saw that they were practically bare. He bowed his head to allow the water to spray between his shoulder blades and wings, and sighed in relief when the stickiness washed away. He shrugged and turned, shifting Castiel under the shower head.

“Careful, Dean! I don’t want you to fall.”

“I was faking to get you in the shower. It worked. Wash the blood off and then kiss me.”

“Dean--”

“Castiel, shut up,” Dean turned in Castiel’s arms, ran his thumb across the dried blood on his cheek to get rid of it, and then pressed his lips to his.

He smiled victoriously when he felt Castiel lean into the kiss. Castiel’s hand move from Dean’s lower back up between his wings. When Castiel stroked his large left wingbone, Dean couldn’t suppress a moan and shook at the knees. He had never felt such pleasure. It was euphoric.

“Fuck, Cas,” he said, voice husky. He dropped his forehead to the juncture where Castiel’s head met his shoulder and revelled in the touch.

Castiel’s voice had dropped several octaves, if that was even possible, when he began speaking. “Your wings are practically bare, but your feathers should grow in quickly. You have downy feathers that are a rich brown. They are folded up tightly against your back right now, but I believe they are going to be shorter than mine. I would think they will be more predator like. Perhaps like a falcon?” he mused.

“Cas--” Dean groaned. The combination of the rich tones of Castiel’s voice and the stroking of his wings was bypassing his brain and caused his already hard cock to stiffen more.

“My wings are bigger, you’ve seen them. But, I am much older.” Castiel stroked his fingers down to the tip of Dean’s right wingbone. Suddenly, both of Castiel’s hands were on both of his wings, stroking lightly, and all Dean could do was hold on.

“Fuck, Cas, your wings are--” the rest of his sentence came out garbled, when both of Castiel’s hands gripped the tips, _the alula,_ his brain supplied, tightly and the pleasure intensified. Dean’s hips jutted forward to attempt to make contact, and he grunted triumphantly when his cock made contact with Castiel’s.

Castiel’s composure slipped with the contact and his grip tightened further. Dean’s teeth connected with the soft flesh of Castiel’s neck, and he bit down. Dean wrapped his right hand around his and Castiel’s cocks and tugged as he thrust a little. Dean’s left hand wrapped around Castiel to grab his ass to keep him in place. He pumped their cocks and licked his neck. Castiel continued to stroke his wingbones, matching Dean’s rhythm.

Dean lifted his head and looked at Castiel. His head was thrown back in pleasure, and Dean couldn’t remember seeing anything so beautiful, so arousing, so _fucking hot._ That pushed Dean over the edge and he came in hot spurts across Castiel’s stomach. Dean’s wings involuntarily jutted with the force of his orgasm, hitting the tile of the shower, cracking it.

The water of the shower washed it quickly away. Castiel looked down and locked eyes with Dean. He moved his hand to the back of Dean’s head and pulled him into a bruising kiss, crashing their teeth together with the force. Dean felt Castiel’s orgasm, the force of which hit his chin.  

Castiel pulled away and stepped back, and Dean watched as he turned his eyes downward.

“Cas, what’s wrong?”

“I didn’t know that touching your wings would cause that reaction. I’m sorry.”

Dean chuckled. “Oh, Castiel, I have wanted to do something like _that_ for a very long time now. I’m sorry I tricked you into it.”

“NO!” Castiel’s tone was panicked. “I enjoyed that very much.”

The shower was beginning to cool, as the hot water ran low. “So did I. You were sick, and then I was… I feel great now.”

“I am much improved as well,” Castiel whispered with a chuckle.

“Well, let’s finish this shower and do it again. Maybe we can see if me touching your wings has a similar effect?”

Dean delighted when Castiel hastily grabbed the soap. “Okay. Turn around.”

Dean’s flaccid cock twitched at the command, and he obeyed. Castiel washed Dean and quickly followed with himself. A few minutes later, they were stepping out of a frigid shower, having completely run out of hot water.

Dean turned away from the mirror to dry off and handed Castiel a towel, wrapping his own around his waist. He moved to the sink to brush his teeth and looked in the mirror. He turned to survey his wings.

“Why are my wings so tight now?” he asked as he loaded his toothbrush and did the same with Castiel’s when the other man stepped next to him. “I’ve only been able to really move them involuntarily.”

“I believe it is like walking. You have to learn how to control them. It isn’t intrinsic,” Castiel answered.

Dean nodded before spitting and rinsing, allowing Castiel to do the same. He moved toward his room, and what he saw horrified him. The room was covered in dried blood, the lamp and headboard broken.

Castiel’s laugh began deep in his chest, and Dean found himself joining in. Castiel’s fingers ghosted over his wings as he moved around Dean to enter the room. He dropped his towel and moved to the dresser naked. He reached into the top drawer and pulled out a couple of pairs of boxers, throwing a pair at Dean.

“Leave them off,” Dean growled as he began to stalk predatorily toward the other man.

“I’m not cooking naked, Dean,” Castiel said as he rolled his eyes. “And I am hungry.”

Dean’s stomach lurched in response, and the idea of more sex was pushed to the side in favor of food. He threw on his underwear and ran down the stairs to the kitchen. “Grab the journal, Cas!” he yelled jovially.

* * *

After an easy breakfast of cereal was consumed, they opened the journal and began to pour over it.

“Well, that makes sense then,” Castiel said quietly.

“Hmmm?” Dean asked as he sipped his tea. Castiel had only added a pinch of the calinut powder, which still seemed to do the trick without making him comatose.

“The tea is called a _halitot infusion._ And, the calinut flower is related to the poppy. It is essentially opium.”

“Well, shit,” was all Dean could say.

Castiel only nodded in agreement. Dean knew they’d have to deal with that, his _addiction_ , in the near future. After remembering what Sam went through during his withdrawals from the demon blood, he wasn’t looking forward to it.

“Well, that is also interesting,” Castiel said without looking up.

Dean scooted closer, and slid his hand onto Castiel’s knee. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

“Sam traced the tea back to the time of Enoch. Enoch was a human man whose lifespan was extremely long. Almost four hundred years. He was a prophet of the Lord, and was often visited by Angels. Enoch was said to take calinut tea. The recipe was just the crystal grace and the calinut stamen at the time. The apple and agave nectar were Gabriel’s additions to make it taste better, I suspect. But, I digress. One of the messenger Angels spent his exuviation with Enoch, and one of his feathers fell into the teapot. Enoch drank it, and it prolonged his life to an extent that God had to intervene and bring him to Heaven.”

“Did this Enoch end up with wings?” Dean asked.

“It isn’t clear in Sam’s notes, but I would suspect not. My feathers in the tea are responding to my latent grace in your soul, and it changed your anatomy. I do not believe Enoch had that latent grace, so he only received the prolonged lifespan.”

Dean nodded as he took in that information. “So, ya think God’s going to come and take me away?”

“God isn’t around, Dean. I’ll teach you how to deal with your wings, and I doubt you’ll use your newfound abilities for personal gain and power, as I suspect Enoch did.”

“But--” Dean started.

“No, Dean. God isn’t taking you away from me. He’ll have to go through me first, and even then, we’d end up in Heaven together. I’d find you, and we’d spend our eternity there together. But, you still have purpose here.”

Dean smiled softly at the hard look in Castiel’s eyes. The fire that burned there made Dean press his lips to Castiel’s. “I love you, honey. If you were taken away, I’d find you too. I need you.”

Castiel growled when he stood and pulled Dean up with him. He wrapped his arms around him and kissed him hard. Dean groaned when he felt his body respond. Dean pressed his hard cock against Castiel as the Angel pushed him up against the table and jutted his hips forward to get friction.

Dean thrust upward to meet Castiel’s hardness. He moaned, bit Castiel’s earlobe, and in a breathy whisper, he said, “Cas, honey, I would prefer to take this upstairs rather than fuck on Bobby’s kitchen table.”

The next second, they were in Dean’s room. Castiel had managed to fly them up the stairs, but he dropped Dean onto the bed before falling to his knees, breathing heavily.

“Way to ruin the mood,” Castiel said as he caught his breath.

“When did you figure out you could fly again?” Dean asked as he rolled over onto his side to look at the dark haired man on his knees next to him.

Castiel sat up on the edge of the bed, and Dean curled his body around him, rubbing his back lightly. “After I cut through your vesicles, well, you can see the ensuing mess. I needed to get towels quickly, and all the towels were in the dryer in the basement. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of the mess beforehand and prepared. I was just so worried about alleviating the pain. Anyway, I attempted to fly to the basement, and I was successful. Trying to fly tandem was stupid though.”

“What about your mojo?”

“It’s still bottled up, but, to borrow from the same metaphor, I can feel the cap loosening,” Castiel said with a smile and leaned down to kiss Dean.


	9. Mystic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another lovely piece from [serafire](http://serafire.tumblr.com/).

**Chapter 9: Mystic**

The screen on the back door slammed shut behind Dean as he stomped across the dry, brittle grass appreciating the devastating crunch underneath his boots.

“Fucking, know-it-all insufferable ass,” he muttered as he stalked through the automobile graveyard to the back field. “Concentrate, Dean! Clear your mind, Dean! You control your wings, not the other way around,” he growled, mocking Castiel’s voice.

He scratched at the rapidly growing feathers of his left wing. Dean’s plumage had almost grown in completely throughout the past couple of weeks, but the rapid pace of their growth was extremely irritating. He was pretty proud of their chocolate brown and moss green color though.

As soon as his larger feathers had started to grow in, Castiel had insisted on honing his control. However, he couldn’t give Dean any sort of practical application knowledge. Castiel could only say that Dean needed to concentrate and focus, something that he had always had a difficult time doing.

Dean had reached his boiling point and had lost his temper. The impending apocalypse, how he was practically useless until he got control over his wings, the look of disappointment that crossed Castiel’s face when he was unsuccessful, his fucking addiction to the feather tea… He had had enough. He stormed out of the house, grabbed Castiel’s trench coat, the only article of clothing that would cover his fucking new appendages, and left to attempt to ‘clear his mind’ without an audience or the look of disappointment on his lover’s face when he failed to accomplish the ‘simple’ task. _Again_.

Dean pulled off Castiel’s trench coat, and tied it around his waist. He made sure his tank top was situated in a way that his wings wouldn’t shred it, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

_In through the nose, out through the mouth_ , he thought. _Concentrate, clear your mind, Dean, you fucker. You can do this_.

Castiel came to mind almost involuntarily, to all the things Dean had done over the past few weeks to distract Castiel from their lessons. There was the time in the shower, another moment in the kitchen, and then the time he knelt in front of the blue-eyed Angel and took him in his mouth and a wave of heat coated his skin. He knew one thing: this line of thinking was definitely not the way to clear his mind.

Dean needed to cool his jets, so he closed his eyes, pushed Castiel out of his mind and began the process of slowing his breath, centering himself. He thought of a cold shower and breathed.

_In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth_. His chin dropped to his chest, his breathing slowed, and he felt it.

He wanted to be anywhere but there, right at that moment.

He kept breathing, centering himself. _In through the nose, out through the mouth_.

In an instant, he felt everything change. He felt his wings extend, and he smiled triumphantly. He was doing it! A crisp, cool breeze washed over his face, and he sneezed.

He opened his eyes and gasped. He was standing in a small clearing, surrounded by large evergreen trees and thick underbrush.

“FUCK!” he yelled at the stormy sky overhead.

He wasn’t in the field behind the salvage yard anymore. The temperature had dropped, but he hardly felt the cold. He pulled on Castiel’s trench coat anyway.

Dean sat down on a large boulder to take stock of what had happened. He had no idea where he was.

“Okay, you fucker, you flew somewhere. That’s fucking awesome. But, you’re not at Bobby’s anymore,” he said aloud to himself. Panic was starting to creep in, and he knew he had to nip it in the bud and figure out how to get back home. A pep talk was just what he needed. “So, where are ya?” he asked himself.

He fished his dollar-store cellphone out of his hip pocket and looked to see if he could garner any information from it.

‘No service’ flashed on the screen, and Dean growled at the small square of plastic and glass, cursing Sam for talking him into buying the stupid, cheap thing.

He shoved the device back into his pocket and started to think. If he flew once, maybe he could fly again. Preferably somewhere that had cheeseburgers and pie readily available. His stomach gave a hearty grumble at the thought.

Dean stood again, closed his eyes, and began trying to slow and center his breath again.

But, as he began his second cycle of breathing, he heard something rustling near the treeline not far from him, breaking his concentration. He opened his eyes and gasped.

It was a giant moose. Its antlers were large and wide, suggesting he was an old-ass animal. Dean stood stock still, trying to determine if the animal was a threat. It was a magnificent creature and one he had never encountered before. He couldn’t resist a picture, and fished his stupid phone out of his pocket. He opened the photo app and quickly snapped a picture. He’d send it to Sam with a stupid message about finding his twin when he got out of this mess.

The flash on his phone startled the giant beast and it lowered its head at Dean, preparing to charge.

“Goddamn it!” Dean yelled, turning on heels and running into the forest in hopes that the moose wouldn’t catch up and gore him to death.

As he ran, his wings jolted under the cover of the coat, so he whipped it off mid stride and tied it tightly around his waist again. He dared a glance behind him and saw his attacker closing the gap. Dean froze and his skin prickled with the terror of his impending doom. The moose lowered his head and surged forward faster.

Suddenly, Dean’s wings opened and he was several feet above ground. The moose narrowly missed his feet and rammed into a tree trunk, knocking it over. The moose laid lifeless on the ground near the tree, blood pooling near the creature’s head.

Dean’s heart rate slowed as the adrenaline worked its way through his system. But, his wings remained open, flapping slowly to keep him in the air.

“Timber, motherfucker,” Dean said and a manic giggle escaped his throat.

His wings started to fail him at that moment and he looked back. “Oh no you fuckers don’t,” he whispered, anger building again at his own wings, his own body. He channeled his anger into his feathered appendages, and they flapped appropriately, up and down, until he was above the trees. He took stock of his location. About a mile ahead there was a paved road, and he flew toward it.

When he got there, he attempted a landing, but it was more of a crash. His favorite jeans now sported a large hole in the knee and he was bleeding profusely.

“Fuck!” he yelled and his wings twitched. “Now you fuckers work?”

Dean contemplated flying again, but he was still too unsure about the landing. He ripped off his tank top and tied it around his knee to stop the blood flow, pulled on Castiel’s trench coat, and set off down the road, limping slightly. A pain shot up his leg, and he felt the always present, if faint, need for feather tea. His mouth watered and his hand trembled, but he got a hold of himself.

“Well, this is one way to get clean,” he said bitterly. “Throw someone out into the middle of nowhere, and make them find their way home. Your goddamn vice will be the farthest thing from your mind when you’re being chased by mooses, meeses. FUCK!”

He walked for what felt like hours before an ancient, rusty Chevy Silverado pick-up truck pulled up next to him and honked.

A young Native American man, about twenty, rolled down the window. “Lost?” he asked.

“Ya can say that,” Dean grumbled. “Where am I?”

“‘Bout twenty miles outside of Fairbanks. Where ya headed?” he asked with a wide grin.

Dean looked at the man and glared. _Alaska!_ “Well, fuck. I guess I’m goin’ there.” The moose made a whole hell of a lot more sense now.

“Well, yer headin’ the wrong way,” the man laughed. “Git in, I’ll drive ya. It’ll be dark soon.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at the kid. In his line of work, rule number one was never get into a car with someone you didn’t know, and beyond his old pocket knife, he didn’t have any weapons on him. But, he really didn’t have any choice either. The sun was setting, and the temperature was dropping rapidly. He could brave the elements or trust a stranger. So he walked around the truck, opened the passenger side and slid in.

He looked over and the kid grinned as he put the truck into gear, turned around and started down the road. “What’s yer name?”

“Dean,” he grunted.

“I’m Ed. How’d you get out here?”

Dean didn’t have a good believable explanation, so he simply shrugged.

Ed laughed. “Where’s your shirt?”

Dean pointed to his knee.

“Ah,” he nodded. “Not much of a talker. I get it. My uncle is a medicine man in Fairbanks if you want to have that looked at.”

“Just a scraped knee.”

“It would be no trouble.”

Dean didn’t know how he’d explain his rapid healing, or the fuckers on his back, so he said, “Appreciate it, but if you could just get me to a motel, I’ll be fine.”

Ed waved his hand as if to dismiss his statement. “I bet you’re starved, walking out here. You’ll at least come to dinner and then my uncle can look at your knee. Then we’ll find you somewhere to stay for the night. Motels are all full for huntin’ season.”

Dean groaned but nodded.

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Well, Dean’s silence. Ed kept trying to pull him into conversations about movies or music, as if Dean’s appearance in the middle of nowhere Alaska wasn’t an oddity.

After what felt like an eternity, they pulled up at a small, faded, yellow mobile home with, of all things, bright pink plastic flamingos in the lawn. There were no neighbors in sight until, an old man in worn Levi’s and a long-sleeved t-shirt with ‘What happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas’ emblazoned on the front stepped out of the trailer.

“Ed, what did you forget this time?” the man shouted, voice gruff.

“I found this guy wandering along the road and thought he could use your guidance, Uncle,” he answered with a grin. The kid smiled too much for Dean’s liking.

Dean hopped out of the cab of the pickup, careful not to jostle his knee, and stepped forward. “Thanks for the ride to civilization,” he began as he glared at the flamingos. “I’ll just get out of your hair.” Dean turned away.

“Dean Winchester,” the old man said, and Dean stopped mid-stride, his eyes wide. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Dean turned and leveled a glare at the old man. “What the fuck are you?”

His eyes twinkled--fucking twinkled--and he shrugged. “My name is Onkuu. I’m a healer amongst my people. Some think I have the sight, but…” His voice trailed off, and he shrugged again. “Ed, start dinner.”

The younger man saluted his uncle and went inside. Dean stalked toward the old man. “Why should I believe you?”

“You, hiding what you are beneath that--” He waved his hand at Castiel’s trench coat. “Don’t believe an old man can have premonitions?”

“Fair enough,” he said as he relaxed his posture. “What am I?”

“Let me look at that knee,” Onkuu said as he turned and walked inside the trailer.

Dean had no choice but to follow him. He walked inside and the trailer’s interior was as eclectic as the exterior. There was a faded plaid couch facing a massive television, and an ancient recliner chair that was more patch than original material in the corner.

“Sit,” he ordered.

Dean did as he was told and sat as close to the door as he could, in case he needed to make a hasty retreat.

Onkuu pulled up a folding chair and sat in front of Dean. He removed the shirt covering his wound and shrugged. “Seems like you didn’t need me for this. Though you will need a new shirt.”

“No point,” Dean said gruffly.

“Let’s see,” Onkuu said.

Dean shrugged. The mystic seemed to know all his secrets anyway. So, he stood and removed Castiel’s trench coat to reveal his wings.

“Woah,” came from behind him. “Cool.”

“Ed, how's dinner coming?” Onkuu asked.

“Came to see if our guest had any food allergies,” Ed said without mentioning his wings, like it was something he saw regularly.

Dean looked strangely at the younger man. “This isn’t weird for you?” he asked, motioning to his wings.

Ed shrugged, but it was Onkuu that answered. “Ed is my apprentice and seems to have some of my abilities. I am sure he picked you up and brought you to me because he was compelled to do so.”

“It’s fucking weird for me,” Dean mumbled.

Onkuu picked up a stick and smacked him on the leg. “Language!” he admonished.

“Ow! Shit--shoot--sorry! Okay!” Dean said as he rubbed the spot.

Ed laughed lightheartedly. “Don’t cross Uncle. He’s not afraid to use that again. So, food allergies?” Dean shook his head and with an enthusiastic, “Great!” Ed headed back to the kitchen.

“Is he always so cheerful?” Dean asked.

“Better he is cheerful than to succumb to the darkness within,” Onkuu said cryptically.

Dean nodded and pulled out his cellphone. No service blinked back at him. So, he snapped a picture of Onkuu for good measure. Sam wouldn’t believe him without proof.

“So, do you have any great insight on these?” he asked as he pointed to his wings. “And how to get home?”

Onkuu’s eyes glazed over as he began chanting involuntarily and swaying back and forth, and Dean wondered what he was up to. He didn’t have to wait long before the weird mystic began speaking.

“You have a great love,” he stated cryptically, voice far away. “You carry a piece of that love within you. Trust in that.”

Onkuu was out of his trance in an instant.

“What if I am just a disappointment?” Dean asked. It was unusual how open he was with the medicine man. He usually masked his insecurities behind false bravado.

“You could never disappoint unless you fail to try. Or you walk away,” Onkuu stated.

“Fu-dge,” Dean started, catching the swear. “I walked away, that’s how I am here. I wanted to be anywhere but there. I was a failure.”

“ _Did_ you fail?”

“I flew, so in a way I succeeded. But, I still stormed out like a coward.”

“Well, after dinner, you will fly again to go back and apologize. You will be forgiven. Trust in your love,” Onkuu said. Dean wasn’t so sure if he could get back that way, but he didn’t dare voice his doubts.

“Trust in my love,” Dean whispered.

Dean knew that Castiel loved him, though he couldn’t be sure of the extent of that love. Regardless, Dean returned that love completely, even when his Angel could be a pain in the ass. However, Dean realized he was still keeping Castiel at arm's length, a defense mechanism to protect his own heart. He thought back to the the heart-to-heart they had had on the porch, steps when the Angel had asked him to trust in his love. If he continued to cling to his insecurities, Dean was sure he would lose the love of his life and spend the rest of his immortal days alone. Castiel promised to be with him forever, and he needed to trust in those words. _Fuck_ , he thought. _I really have fucked up_.

“Do you have a phone?” Dean asked.

Ed walked out of the kitchen and handed him an older model cell phone.

“Why won’t mine work when this one will?”

“Magic,” Onkuu stated straight-faced.

“Uncle,” Ed admonished. “Quit teasing. It’s a satellite phone,” he explained.

“Thanks,” Dean said. “I’m just going to step out.” He pointed to the front door.

Ed nodded and told him that dinner would be ready soon.

Dean stepped outside and turned on the phone. He slowly punched the numbers in, pressed call, and waited.

And it went to voicemail.

Frustrated, he left a message. “Cas. I’m in Alaska. I’m working on coming home, but I’m safe. I don’t have this number, but it should come up in your missed calls. My phone has no service so don’t try that one. Sorry for...well, sorry for everything. Love you.”

He hung up and stood there for a second. He dialed a second number. It went straight to voicemail. “Goddamn it, Sam. Call me back at this number, bitch,” was the only message he left.

He thought about calling Bobby, but he should still be with Rufus. He’d be no help getting a message to Castiel.

Ed opened the door and announced that dinner was ready. He went inside and Onkuu asked, “No answer. I could’ve told you that.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He hated psychics. “You coulda told me.”

“You needed to leave that message. Well, the first one. You should be nicer to your brother,” Onkuu said sagely as he walked back toward the kitchen.

“It’s how I show my love,” Dean quipped. “Well, with my brother that is.”

Onkuu laughed and sat at a small, rickety dinette in the kitchen. “Sit. Eat. We’ll discuss payment.”

“Payment?”

“For my services,” Onkuu said. “A man’s got to eat.”

“And pay your satellite bill,” Ed stated. “Uncle couldn’t go a day without catching up with the Kardashians.” Ed rolled his dark eyes, a smile crinkling his eyes. He placed a plate in front of Dean and his stomach rumbled.

On the plate in front of him was a patty melt and some homefries.

“Hope you like moose,” Ed said.

Dean picked up the burger and took a big bite. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten, Ed. Mad props, dude.”

A smile lit up Ed’s whole face.

Dean finished his burger in five bites.

“Now, payment,” Onkuu said.

Dean reached for his wallet and realized he didn’t have it.

“Fuck--shit--crap! Sorry! My wallet didn’t come on this messed up vacation with me,” he said. “But, I do know where you can get a moose. One tried to run me down before Ed picked me up, and he ended up bashing his head in.”

“You and Ed can go get it and we will be considered even,” Onkuu said with a nod.

“We had better go get it before it starts to bloat,” Ed said. “Uncle, you’re on dish duty.”

Dean stood and pulled on Castiel’s trench coat. It didn’t take long before Dean and Ed were heading back down the road.

Ed looked over and asked, “So, how’d you get the wings?”

“My boyfriend is an Angel of the Lord,” Dean started and then launched into his story.

It was easier than Dean thought for Ed and him to find the moose again. Ed was an experienced tracker. They had it gutted and loaded onto the bed of the pick-up sooner than Dean had thought they would.

“That is a very old moose, Dean,” Ed said. “And worth more than you owe Uncle in meat alone.”

Dean shrugged. “Send me the antlers.”

They were at the yellow trailer just as light was peeking over the horizon. Onkuu was sitting outside. “You have had a phone call,” he stated. “He sounded frantic. You should call him back.”

Dean nodded and reached for the phone. Onkuu walked over to the truck and examined the moose. “Payment received,” he whispered.

“Dean is getting the antlers, Uncle, but we will eat well this winter on this,” Ed stated.

Dean looked at Onkuu and shrugged. “Souvenir.”

Onkuu laughed, and Dean walked away to make his call.

After five minutes of calming his boyfriend down, and then apologizing for walking away, and then convincing Castiel to get some rest, Dean felt better about everything.

He walked to the truck and began helping Ed unload the large beast.

He shook Ed’s hand when the task was done and thanked him. “I’m going to go work on getting home. Look me up if you’re ever in Sioux Falls.”

“I will. Perhaps I will need to make my own spirit journey,” he said.

“If you’re ever in trouble, pray to Castiel. He’ll hear you and we’ll come help.”

Ed nodded and Dean waved as he walked away. He took off Castiel’s coat and tied it around his waist. He closed his eyes and began to center his breath, focusing on his love for Castiel.

_In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth_.

He found that his breath centered easier when he was focusing on something positive. He pictured Castiel in his mind’s eye, his blue eyes and messy hair, and focused on his love. He felt the air warm up slightly.

When he opened his eyes, he was in their room at Bobby’s house looking at Castiel asleep in their bed. He sat on the edge of the bed and brushed his fingers through his Angel’s messy hair.

Castiel stirred but didn’t wake, so Dean stood and went to the bathroom downstairs to clean up. He smelled like moose.

After a shower and a good toothbrushing, Dean walked back upstairs. Castiel was still asleep, so he dropped his towel, shoved the Angel over, and crawled in with him and pulled him into his arms. He smiled when Castiel cuddled in and unconsciously kissed his neck.

Dean was well on his way to having control over his wings, which was fucking awesome. However, his thoughts turned to everything that needed to be accomplished with the apocalypse. He hoped Sam had good news on that front.

As Dean drifted off to sleep with his love in his arms, he thought that even with the apocalypse looming, he had never felt lighter.


	10. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More art from [serafire](http://serafire.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Also, NSFW!

**Chapter 10: Hope**

While Dean was training with his new wings, learning how to control when and where he flew and how to hide them as Castiel did, Sam had managed to acquire all four rings of the Horsemen practically on his own. The rings formed a key that could lock Lucifer back in his cell. Simple enough, except they had to get Lucifer inside the cell before they could lock him away.

Sam had devised a plan to trap Lucifer within his own body until he could open the portal and cast the Archangel back into his prison. Against Dean’s insistence that the plan was foolish and likely to fail, Sam did it. The moment Sam accepted Lucifer, he was lost.

A full on apocalypse was about to break with the arrival of Michael, who was tasked with defeating Lucifer. Castiel was at full power again and Dean, while lacking any powers beyond teleportation and longevity, was back to his full strength. Together, they flew themselves and Bobby to the site of the epic showdown of Angels.  

It was odd, going into battle by wing, because it was the first time that Dean was showing up for a job without the Impala. But the plan called for stealth and Baby wasn’t the least bit inconspicuous.

Dean and Bobby could do very little in a fight against Archangels, but they helped how they could, distracting and inhibiting the fight with the weapons they had brought. Castiel produced a holy oil molotov cocktail, and Dean watched the love of his life call the most powerful of beings an, “Assbutt,” as he threw it at them.

It wasn’t good enough.

“Cas!”

Dean felt his heart tear from his chest, hollow and numb, when Castiel was gone with the snap of Lucifer’s fingers, disintegrated out of existence. Bobby was next, a broken neck, and finally his own brother.

“Sam!”

Dean could barely hear the ragged sound of his own screaming as he watched his brother fall into the gaping hole that had opened up in the ground at their feet, the rings working like a key as expected.

His brother had been lost to the clutches of Lucifer until the final moment when Sam took back control and threw himself, Lucifer included, into the Pit.

The portal to the Pit closed as abruptly as it had opened, and Lucifer and Michael were locked away for good. But, so was Sam.

Dean was alone, standing on the edge of the dark precipice that was no longer there. The anguish was unbearable, and he fell to his knees. He seethed with hate for Lucifer, for Michael, for himself. Even with his recent transformation, he couldn’t do a thing to save the people he loved.  

One last shout ravaged his throat, and he dropped his head into his hands. For a moment, he could imagine the warmth he felt came from Castiel’s hands instead of his own.

“Dean.”

It was Castiel’s voice, and Dean was confident he had completely lost his mind. But, he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Dean,” the voice said again.

“Cas,” Dean groaned in response, his voice cracking. Dean kept his head buried in his hands, afraid to open his eyes and see nothing, until his hands were pulled away.

“Dean, it’s me.”

The physical contact shocked him into opening his eyes to see Castiel crouched in front of him, whole and perfect. The tears that had yet to find release flowed freely as Dean threw himself into his Angel’s arms.

“Cas, how? You were gone. How are you here?” Dean asked when he finally made himself pull away.

“I don’t know. However, I’m inclined not to question it,” he answered with a slight smile. Castiel helped Dean to his feet and glanced over his shoulder at Bobby’s broken form. With a gentle squeeze of Dean’s arm, Castiel approached Bobby and placed two fingers on the dead man’s forehead. Moments later, Bobby gasped for air and sat up.

“Balls, that hurt like a motherfucker.” Bobby shook his head and rubbed at his neck. “Cas? How are you--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean answered.

“Where is Sam?” Castiel asked. Dean shook his head.

“He’s in the Pit, with Lucifer and Michael. Cas, can you get Sam out, like you did me?”

“I don’t think so, Dean. Sam is behind a locked barrier. He is in a much deeper place in Hell than you were.” Dean cringed, and Castiel added, “I could ask Gabriel.”

“Gabriel?”

“He’s an Archangel, Dean. He might be able to help.” Dean nodded. “I will have to look for him in Heaven.”

“Why can’t you just call him down here?” Dean asked.

“He hasn’t been answering my calls lately. He may not be in Heaven, but it’s a good place to start.”

“When will you be back?” Dean’s voice was uncharacteristically fragile as he imagined an indeterminable amount of time without Castiel.

“As soon as I can,” Castiel answered confidently, and pulled Dean into a tight embrace. Dean wrapped his arms around him and squeezed.

“Promise me,” Dean whispered into the warmth of Castiel’s scruffy neck. “That you will find Gabriel and get my brother back, and that you will come back to me.”

“I swear it, Dean.” Castiel pulled away enough to press his lips to Dean’s. The deep kiss acted as a seal to his promise, but Dean could feel something else. Deep down, he felt the fear that this could be their last kiss, the last moment he had with his Angel. It was irrational perhaps, but Dean could not shake the feeling that once Castiel disappeared, he would never come back.

* * *

One, two, three months went by and Sam was still gone. Castiel did not return.

After the apocalypse was averted, Dean returned with Bobby to his salvage yard and spent the first several days anxiously waiting. His prayers to Castiel went unanswered. As the days passed, the anxiety waned into despair. He couldn’t eat or sleep, he rivaled Bobby’s threshold for alcohol, and he found himself teleporting to some of the more remote parts of the world just so he could scream where no one could hear him. It took everything in him not to seek the blissful comfort of a cup of strong feather tea. Dean’s hands shook at the thought of it.

“You’ve got to keep living, Dean,” Bobby intervened one evening after Dean returned from one of his solo flights. “I know it hurts, but--”

“You don’t know a damn thing,” Dean lashed out.

“Sam was my son, just as you are, ya ‘idgit. And Cas was a good friend to all of us.” Bobby took a breath and added, “I know he was more than that to you. I know you miss him, but I’m sure he’s doing everything he can to help your brother. Maybe it’s just taking longer than you’d think.”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled, unconvinced.

“We could always do some research on our own, see if we can figure out how to get Sam out of Hell.”

Dean nodded, but he was far from hopeful. With the overbearing sense of helplessness weighing him down, Dean could think of nothing to do but to follow Bobby’s advice. He threw himself into Bobby’s library of books, manuscripts, and artifacts.

He continued to get very little sleep, determined to cover as much material as possible in the shortest amount of time. He fought the headaches with Advil and whiskey, and the fatigue with strong black coffee, something for which he had acquired the taste in the wake of his despair.

After several weeks, and more than a few dead end leads, Dean was at a loss. There was nothing he could do to save his brother. His prayers to Castiel continued to go unanswered, and even the occasional desperate summoning failed to bring the Angel back to him.

Dean had no other choice but to keep living, keep hunting. Bobby found him a job in Montana and offered to join him.

“I’ll be fine, Bobby.”

“Dean, I don’t think you should go alone.”

“I have to get used to working alone,” Dean responded numbly, but pulled Bobby into a hug. “Thanks, Bobby. For everything. I’ll be back in a couple weeks.”

Dean considered flying to Montana. He’d be there in an instant, save some time. But, he longed for the comfort of driving on the open road. His Baby was all he had left, so he packed some clothes and supplies, roared the Impala to life, and set a path toward his destination.

* * *

The screeching sound of his alarm clock brought Dean abruptly out of sleep, and he slammed his hand on the snooze button, knocking the clock to the floor. He would have been back asleep in the next moment if it hadn’t been for the strong arm that snaked around his waist.

Dean was pulled against a warm body, and he hummed in satisfaction. A face, rough with stubble, brushed against the back of his neck, and he turned his head to meet the clear blue eyes of his lover.

“Morning,” Castiel said softly and smiled. Dean returned the greeting with a languid kiss. He could feel the evidence of Castiel’s arousal pressed against him, trapped behind the barrier of his boxers. Dean arched his back, pressing his backside firmly against Castiel’s hardened cock. The Angel grunted in Dean’s ear, the puff of warm breath brushing his neck.

Castiel’s arm shifted until his hand was stroking Dean’s equally hard cock, tracing the girth with practiced fingers. Back and forth, they writhed together, the friction of hand and ass driving them both to keening moans. Dean was the first to utter anything coherent.

“Off,” he demanded as he tugged at the waistband of Castiel’s boxers. He quickly pulled them off and helped Dean remove his. It was hot skin against hotter skin, and for a moment, they stayed still, pressed firmly against each other, Dean fitting perfectly into the curve of Castiel’s body.

Dean reached for his side table, reluctant to pull very away far, and opened the drawer to retrieve a jar of coconut oil. He scooped out a small amount with two fingers and reached behind him, coating Castiel’s cock and his own ass liberally. Castiel reached over him to retrieve a dollop of oil himself and rubbed it onto Dean’s aching cock.

With the first pump of Castiel’s hand, Dean felt the tip of Castiel’s cock slowly slide against his ass, between his cheeks. The overwhelming pleasure in front and behind elicited a guttural moan from deep within Dean’s chest. Castiel teased him with a few gentle thrusts, the tip just grazing the puckered entrance that ached for something to fill it. Dean gripped Castiel’s hip as Castiel matched the pumping of his hand to the rhythm of his thrusts.

“Cas, please…” Dean begged huskily as Castiel continued to tease what he really wanted, what he _needed_.

“Please what?” Castiel said with a grin against Dean’s neck.

“ _Fuck me_ , Cas. _Please_ fuck--”

In one firm, but slow thrust, Castiel entered Dean, pleasure and pain co-mingling. Once fully hilted, Castiel paused to allow them both to relish the solid connection. They were both panting heavily as Castiel started to move again. He still gripped Dean’s cock and pumped it in a similar rhythm with his rocking hips.

After a few slow thrusts, Castiel began to lose control, his motions becoming more erratic. Dean met his hips with every hard thrust and covered Castiel’s hand on his cock with his own. With the added pressure, Dean spilled over with a shout onto the clean linens of their bed. Castiel was quick to follow, the warmth of his cum filling Dean so completely that they both shuddered.

When Castiel withdrew, Dean rolled over to face his lover and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Well that’s one way to wake up,” Dean laughed and nuzzled his face into Castiel’s neck.

Castiel held him close and they stayed locked together for several more minutes until Dean’s stomach growled noisily.

“Pancakes?” Castiel chuckled.

“Hell yes.”

Castiel rolled out of bed, using his boxers to clean the mess that had stuck to his groin, and pulled on a pair of flannel pants. Dean followed him out of bed, but headed for the bathroom without dressing. He started the shower as he heard Castiel make his way toward the kitchen.

Dean took his time in the shower, despite the roaring hunger in his belly. He stood in the hot water, content with its warmth and with everything else. He had a cozy house, a job he didn’t hate, and a man that loved him. Everything was so perfect that he had to actively ignore the nagging suspicion that something wasn’t right, or that something would go wrong. He was Dean Winchester. Nothing was ever perfect or fair or _good_ without something bad to follow it. Or at least, that was how things used to be. Dean clung to the hope that things had finally changed for the better. It was mornings like these that strengthened that hope.

It was the warm, sweet smell of pancakes that finally drew Dean from the shower, and he quickly dressed to make his way to the kitchen. Two plates stacked high with fluffy pancakes, along with two cups of steaming coffee, adorned their small dining table. Castiel was washing his hands at the sink, and Dean walked up behind him to slip his arms around the man’s waist.

“I love you,” Dean whispered against the back of Castiel’s neck. Castiel turned in his arms and returned the embrace.

“And I love you, Dean.” Castiel lifted his hands and cupped Dean’s face tenderly, brushing his thumbs across his cheeks. He leaned in to press his lips to Dean’s, and Dean could taste a faint hint of syrup on his lips.

“Started without me?” Dean teased and pulled away slightly, but Castiel kept his hands firmly on Dean’s face.

“It’s time to wake up, Dean,” Castiel said evenly, his face expressionless.

“What?” Dean tried to pull away, but Castiel tightened his hold on his face.

“Wake up, Dean,” he said again. “You have to wake up.”

“Cas, what are you--”

“Wake up, Dean!” he shouted, and slapped Dean hard across the face. Dean’s vision burst with speckles of white before clearing. Castiel was still before him, but he was wearing his trench coat and crooked tie. They no longer stood in their kitchen, and the smell of pancakes was a faint memory. Dean realized he was hardly standing at all as he lolled his heavy head around to survey his surroundings: a dark warehouse, a sticky concrete floor, and chains suspended from the ceiling to hold him up by the wrists.

“Is this a fucking nightmare?” Dean asked, voice rough from disuse.

“No, Dean,” Castiel answered, drawing Dean’s attention back to him.

“It can’t be real, if you’re here,” Dean mumbled, mostly to himself. “And this sure as hell ain’t something I’d call a good dream.” His wings, though willed invisible, felt wilted from his weak state. He pulled on the chains and was met with a bolt of pain through his arms and shoulders. The pain was very real.

“This is not a dream, Dean,” Castiel assured him as he helped release him from the chains. “But you were likely stuck in one.” He stepped aside and gestured toward a bloody heap on the floor, a pale body covered in blue tattoos.

“Damn Djinn,” Dean grumbled and rubbed at the raw skin of his wrists. “Fuckin’ hate those things.”

“Why were you hunting it alone?”

“You’re kidding me right?” Dean scoffed. “There are exactly two people I would trust my life with on a hunt. One is in Hell and the other is in Heaven. You tell me then. Who the fuck should I hunt with?” Castiel flinched at his tone.

“Where’s Bobby?”

“Doing his job, at home.” When Castiel did not respond, Dean added, “Took you long enough to show up.” He tried to push past Castiel, but his legs gave out. Castiel reached forward to hold him up.

“I came as soon as I saw you were in trouble,” he answered calmly.

“It’s been months. Fucking months.” His voice was more desperate than he intended. “Where have you been?”

“Time flows differently in Heaven. I did not realize I was away for so long.”

“Bullshit,” Dean spat. “Don’t lie to me, Cas. To _me_. I prayed to you every fucking day. I called out to you, and you refused to answer.”

“Heaven was-- _is_ \--in disarray,” Castiel explained sadly. “Gabriel has filled the role of leader of our brothers and sisters in Heaven, and he asked me to help him restore order.”

“You could have told me that, and I would have understood. But instead, you ignored me and left me _alone_. Why didn’t you just _tell_ me?”

“If I had come to you,” Castiel said softly. “I fear I would not have been able to leave your side again. I would not have returned to Heaven to fulfill my duty to my brothers and sisters.”

“Fuck ‘em!” Dean shouted.

“Dean, Gabriel might be able to help us get Sam back. I have spoken with him about this, but he contends that Heaven must be dealt with first.”

“Of course he does,” Dean grumbled. “Sam sacrificed himself to stop the apocalypse, and Gabriel just wants to leave him to rot in hell? Typical Angel.”

“Dean.” Castiel placed a gentle hand against Dean’s cheek. “I swore to you that I would return, and I will. If I had any other choice, I wouldn’t leave until you sent me away yourself. But, I have to go, to save Sam as well as my own kin. I’m doing this for _us_.”

“But how long--”

“I don’t know. But know that I think of you every second I’m away, and having to count those seconds until I can see you again is a special kind of torture. I love you, Dean. We have an eternity to be together, but this must be done first.”

Dean took a deep breath and nodded silently.

“I would never send you away,” Dean said quietly, reaching up to squeeze Castiel’s hand that still held his face. Castiel leaned in and pressed his lips to Dean’s. The kiss was bittersweet, but full of hope. Dean felt the warmth of Castiel’s power fill him from head to toe, and an instant later his injuries were completely healed.

When Dean opened his eyes, Castiel was gone, but he could still feel the tingle of warmth of his hand on his cheek. He touched the bare skin there and smiled.

“I’m counting the seconds, Cas.” And in another breath, “I love you.”


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

You know what sucks? What was the absolute worst?

Hunting alone.

Digging up graves for a good, old fashioned salt and burn alone. It was monotonous. Which allowed Dean’s mind to wander.

Dean was just finishing up a haunting case in southeastern Colorado, corpse burned and put to rest. Dean knew he was a hunter for life. But, he had always been a part of a hunting duo. It was him and Sammy or him and Castiel.

 _Fuck, Castiel_. Dean tried not to think about him. The empty hole inside of him throbbed when he thought of Castiel. He loved the Angel with everything he was, but it had been almost a year. In hunting time that was: two werewolves, a vampire coven, a lady in white, an exceptionally difficult-to-track ghoul, and three run-of-the-mill hauntings.  

Hunting alone was damn lonely.

He zapped from the cemetery to the Impala without even thinking. He didn’t need to drive anymore, but the Impala was comforting, it was safe, it was home. It was always there. He peeled out onto the highway and got lost in the road for a while.

His mind wandered back to Castiel, and he sent up a silent prayer to him of his love like he did every night. He wasn’t angry with the Angel anymore. Well not _his_ Angel.

Before Dean could stop himself, he was pulling off the road, the Impala coming to a screeching halt.

“Gabriel!” he yelled at the sky.

It wasn’t two seconds before Gabriel showed up, unwrapping one of those disgusting strawberry hard candies. “What’s up, Dean-o?”

“Where’s Cas?”

“He’s upstairs.”

“Get him down here,” Dean said, voice dangerously low and full of malice. “Don’t fuck with me, Gabe. Get Castiel down here now.”

“Is he not coming when you call him?” he asked mock-innocently.

“Fuck you. Call him.”

“Maybe you should take that as a sign,” Gabriel said as he looked at his fingernails as if he was already bored of the conversation.

“Castiel!” Dean yelled. “Get down here! NOW!”

“I felt your anger, Dean,” Castiel said from behind him.

“Gabe is being an asshole, and it pissed me off. I’m not angry with you,” Dean said as he moved into Castiel’s personal space. Castiel pulled him into his arms and kissed him soundly.

Dean pulled away. “I missed you, honey. It’s been a while, and I’m trying to be patient, but think I can I get an ETA?”

Gabriel cleared his throat. He looked over at Castiel and asked, “You can feel him in Heaven?”

“Of course I can. I did tell you that we were linked,” Castiel stated plainly. “I also sleep, and desire food although I don’t need it for survival.”

Gabriel looked over at Dean, “Can you do anything?”

“I’ve got my wings, and rapid healing. I was bit by a vampire not too long ago and it just healed up. It was freaky. My soul feels empty when Cas is away,” he admitted quietly.

“As does my being,” Castiel whispered looking deep into Dean’s eyes.

Gabriel scrubbed his face with his hands. “Well fuck,” he said.

“How’s Heaven, Cas?” he asked not paying any attention to Gabriel.

“Heaven is fine, Dean. I was coming home to you within the next couple of days. After I talked to Gabriel about Sam. I was going to surprise you,” Castiel said with a grin.

“I always did like your surprises,” Dean whispered, thinking of the pie. He took Castiel’s hand in his. “Let’s go home then, sweetheart.”

“Ew,” Gabriel said and he pulled a face. “Wait, Heaven isn’t home?”

Castiel turned to regard his brother without releasing contact with Dean. “No, brother. Home is with Dean. I know you wanted to make me second in command of Heaven. I know you get lonely. But, I’ve told you time and time again that once Heaven is reordered, that I was going to return to Earth. Make Hannah or Balthazar your second. I’ll watch Earth with Dean and make sure nothing terrible emerges from Hell.”

“But--” Gabriel started.

“No, Gabriel,” Castiel said firmly. “I’ve done my duty to its fullest. Now what do you plan to do about Sam?”

“It’s going to take some time, and I had hoped that Castiel would lead the garrison, but I have a plan,” Gabriel said as he shot a hopeful look at Castiel.

Castiel shook his head. “No. I am not going to be your general! Hannah is just as skilled as I am to rescue Sam. I will be available to Hannah to offer guidance and advice. Dean and I will be waiting to aid him in his recovery.”

Gabriel looked at Castiel still hopeful. “If there is nothing I can do to convince you…”

“There is not,” Castiel said with an air of finality.

Gabriel’s shoulders slumped, defeated. “Then, I’ll let you know when it goes down so you and Dean-o can be prepared.”

Castiel nodded and Gabriel zapped away. Dean looked at him.

“You’re really staying?” Dean asked, afraid to feel hopeful.

Castiel crowded Dean against the Impala and kissed him hard. Dean’s arms wound around the Angel’s and when he pulled back, Castiel had transported them to Bobby’s.

Castiel looked in Dean’s eyes and stated, “I am not going back to Heaven for a very long time, Dean.”

“Fuck right, you’re not.” Dean crashed their lips together again.

“Get a room!” yelled Bobby from the porch.

Castiel pulled away panting, and rested his forehead on Dean’s chest.

Dean nuzzled Castiel’s cheek and whispered, “We need our own place. How do you feel about Alaska? Someplace we can stretch our wings and fuck as loudly as we want.”

Castiel looked up into Dean’s eyes and smiled. “Sounds like Heaven to me.”

Dean kissed Castiel softly again. “Fuck yeah, that would be awesome.”

Over the next few months, Dean and Castiel set up a permanent residence just outside Fairbanks, Alaska. In between hunting monsters together, Castiel baked and Dean tinkered on his car. It was a place where they lived openly, flew freely, and loved completely.  
  
END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end. Thank you so much to everyone who helped us get there. (See the beginning for complete list!)
> 
> We will cherish every kudos and review! Thanks for reading!


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